Somewhere Only We Know
by OctoberJune
Summary: Derek is nothing more than a privileged student in New York City when he saves a teenaged runaway from a horrific event. Something changes inside of him. She changes him. But there are always consequences, no matter how pure your intentions are.
1. Chapter 1

**I haven't written fan fiction in a long, long time. **

**But I had an idea recently and I think it'll fit well in the fan fiction world. I'm excited to see where this goes or if anyone cares any longer...I'm still watching and caring.  
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**Rated M for language and further developments.**

**As always, I own nothing.**

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><p>I feel like a Mack truck has driven at full speed down a mountain road and hit me head-on. No. I feel like a shark has found me vulnerable in the water and decided to simply nibble on my head while dragging me along the sea floor. Better yet: I feel like I have bungee jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge, only to find my cable has broken and I've propelled myself head first into the frigid, choppy water of the bay.<p>

I am _that_ hungover.

Finals are done. Whether we passed or failed—or landed somewhere in-between—I no longer have to think about cellular memory, DNA strands, or biological warfare. I don't understand why any of it applied anyway. I'm going to be a surgeon, not a technician or a military pawn plotting to take down other countries by means of radioactive blueberries or whatever. Either way, I'm done. And with only two semesters left—one year to freedom—it's time to drink, be merry, and remember we are young, attractive, and swimming in the possibility pool.

But between the choice of swimming in a pool of possibility or swimming in a pool of Jack Daniels, I should have chosen possibility.

Above me bed springs squeak repeatedly. Someone's having sex. The noise hurts my head; the sun streaming through my blinds hurt my eyes; and my lumpy mattress hurts my back. I groan and pull my pillow over my face.

"Oh god," a voice beside me groans.

My eyes fly open and I push the pillow aside. A blond girl, who I don't remember ever meeting, lies in bed next to me—my comforter is pulled up and over her eyes to block out the sun. She groans again. "Why did you let me drink so much?"

Is it rude to ask someone how you met? I decide yes, yes it is.

I force my mind to remember the previous night's events and up until midnight, everything is fairly clear. Mark stopped by just after eight; he had a 30-rack of Heineken under his arm and a bag full of tacos in his hand. We played an hour of Xbox, drank a third of the rack, and ate all but one taco. At nine the girls showed up. Mark invited almost every girl from Alpha Chi, Alpha Phi, and Alpha Fe Fi Fo Fum (I'm pretty sure I made this one up). The girls looked and smelled good and had been drinking since noon. Mark fucked one girl before we even left for the bar.

Last summer we found a shitty bar by Battery Park. The beer was warm, the bar was crawling with suits, and the view of Jersey City was depressing. As we stumbled out we were invited to a rooftop bar just two blocks away. A seductive woman in a red dress led the way down the street and up sixteen floors to the best bar in the city. We had 360 degree views of World Trade Center One, the Empire State Building, and the Chrysler Building, and the bar was packed with attractive women. Mark got us free drinks all night (after sleeping with the woman in the red dress, also known as Sara Strong) and we decided no place was better for a post-finals party.

I was drunk by midnight. I'm never drunk by midnight.

The shots of Jack and Jameson rolled in quickly and soon girls were lining up for body shots. I remember kissing a brunette around eleven. Her mouth tasted like smoke and I felt the cloud of weed fill my lungs. She was hot, there's no doubt, but when her boyfriend showed up she lost her appeal. Mark was already setting up a three-way with two sorority sisters and I had my eye on an attractive red head who kept glancing my way. There was something inviting about her freckles. She kissed another girl—which I assumed was for free drinks and to turn me on—but then I realized the girl was actually her girlfriend.

0 for 2.

At that point I decided to black out, and apparently I did.

When did I leave? How did I leave? Clearly I didn't navigate the subway. Or did I…?

And who the fuck is the girl in bed next to me?

"I have to pee," she moans and slides out from beneath the sheets. I take a good hard look at her body. She's fit for sure; maybe a runner or a swimmer. Her long legs are tan, but it looks like that fake shit that comes out of a bottle. Her hair cascades down her back, half-covering a rather large tattoo of a flower that starts at her shoulder blades and curls around her left hip. "Can you find me some Advil?" she asks at the door.

I nod.

As soon as she's out the door—dressed in my tee-shirt—I call Mark. He picks up after five rings.

"What. The. Fuck?"

He sounds about as bad as I feel.

"Did you see me leave with a girl last night?"

"I was a little preoccupied man." Mark groans and whispers something I can't hear to someone in the room with him. "Wait, did you go home with someone?"

I check underneath the blanket—yup, I'm naked. "She came home with me."

The bed springs continue to squeak above me.

"Well fuck me sideways! Derek Shepherd is now in the race to become the next Mark Sloan!"

"Holy shit," I throw the pillow across my eyes again. "I gotta go."

"Wait, how was she?"

"Later Mark." I hang up the phone just as he beings to protest.

The door clicks shut and I hear her walk across the room. She climbs back in bed and scoots close to me. This feels too real. It's too much. I pull the pillow away and toss it to my feet. She moves closer still and rests her head on my chest. The pain in my brain and eyes and back all seem to radiate brighter as she covers me with half her body. I resist the urge to literally push her out of my bed and onto the floor. Her fingers smooth over my chest and down to my stomach.

For a long, long moment we both lie there—unspeaking and awake. I know I should make a gesture: touch her hair, feel her ass, but it seems like such a commitment. I don't want to cuddle and talk about our feelings. I don't want to reminisce about our first night together (unless it actually jogs my memory) and I certainly don't want to spend any more time pretending last night was anything more than a one night stand.

I try, as casually as possible, to sit up. I pretend to be reaching for the pillow. She lays her head on her bent arm, her eyes open and watching me.

It's 11:03 AM.

I smile. The first day of my internship starts in less than an hour.

"I gotta go."

She sits up. The blanket falls away from her boobs. "Oh really?" she sounds concerned, but all I can focus on are her pink nipples.

"Internship," I shrug.

She sits up fully and the blanket falls down across her stomach, pooling in her lap. "This early?"

I don't know if she means the time of day or year, but either way NYSTEM is calling my name. I hate studying stem cell science, but the internship is paid and affiliated with school. "They don't really care about finals ending and all that shit." She stares up at me expectantly. "So…I'm going to shower." I say, hoping to get the message across. She doesn't move. I grab my towel. "I'll call you."

She nods and smiles, "Okay." She gets up from the bed and crosses the room to me. I try to stare at her face, but her boobs and her hips and her thighs are distracting. She reaches out, cups both my cheeks, and presses her mouth to mine. It takes me a second, but I drop my towel and wrap my arms around her bare waist. I might not know who this girl is, but she's hot and she's kissing me, so I really don't care.

Being pressed up against her, naked and ready, makes me groan. I have to go.

I pull away. "I have to shower."

"Let me join you." Her hand finds me.

I shiver. "I'm going to be late."

"Fuck it. We're young. Let me shower with you," she whispers against my ear before kissing down my neck.

My internship is waiting. My parents will flip if I fuck this up and my shot at getting into a good medical school next year could be blown. But the tall, gorgeous, completely willing girl pressed up against me is clouding my judgment. She continues to ready me, touching me and kissing my neck, and after a few seconds I groan, "Fuck it" into her neck, lift her up into my arms, and carry her awkwardly to the bathroom.

I am so fucking late I'm surprised they don't fire me on the spot. But Dr. Weaver, my mentor for the next three months, assures me it happens all the time. I didn't mention I was fucking a girl against the shower door, but instead blamed the subway. "The ride from Christopher Street to here is the worst," he assures me, claps me on the back, and sets me up with a temporary ID.

I already hate my internship.

I sit in a dark room, no light except a dim overhead lamp, and read and alphabetize stem cell samples all day. I read the tubes, jot down the information on a chart, and put both in their correct place—the cells in a refrigerator and the chart in the filing cabinet. I do this for five hours. I get up three times to pee and each time I have a new text from the girl from the night before. My memory still can't remember taking her home, but I fairly certain her name is Michelle. Or Maggie. I wait for Mark to text me—distract me from my heinous job—but I'm left with clingy Michelle/Maggie and hundreds of thousands of experimental stem cell transplants.

Just before five, after I've thought of at least two dozen interesting ways to kill myself, Mark texts me back.

_Heartland Brewery 5. _

My stomach churns at the thought of drinking.

I reply: _Be there 5:30. Bring a gun so I can off myself._

_You got it._

When five rolls around Dr. Weaver is gone for the day and the rest of the white coats are packing up. I don't say anything to anyone. I clock out, tuck my ID away, and head for the downtown train to Times Square. The subway platform is packed with suits and skirts leaving work for the day. Everyone checks their work emails on their BlackBerrys and iPhones, even though they just left the office. Men carry bouquets of flowers and woman carry bags of groceries from Whole Foods and Trader Joes. The obligatory musician plays a violin in the corner and I can see he has about $15 out on display.

The train blows in minutes later and everyone rushes the doors, leaving a foot or less of space for exiting passengers. I stay near the turn styles until the last second, jumping onto the train with a grin.

"Nice jump," a girl not much older than my youngest sister says. She's wearing a pink backpack for Christ sake.

I slip my iPod earphones into place, "Thanks," and turn on Jay-Z.

The train ride is only a few minutes, but by the time I reach Port Authority, everyone is aggravated with the crowded train car, annoyed with the people begging for food and money, and pissed off with the one token "loud talker." I meander down the stairwell, much to the disdain of everyone behind me, and I stroll along the underground pass between 7th and 8th Avenues.

Mark waits inside Heartland at the bar. He sits alone nursing a half-drained beer.

As I sit he motions to the bartender to bring two more.

"So work's fun?"

"Oh yeah. Fucking enthralling," I grumble. "Do you think it's possible to kill yourself by jumping out a four story building?"

Mark takes a sip of beer and then throws a peanut into his mouth. "It depends on what you land on. Cement, probably yes. Grass, maybe not."

"After today, I learned the best way to off yourself is a napalm gun."

"Sounds hot. Speaking of hot," he smirks. "Tell me about your fuck buddy for the evening."

The bartender sets down two frothy glasses of beer. I take a huge gulp, expecting to feel pain from the previous night's drinking, but the beer tastes good. "I don't know her name. I don't even remember leaving with her. I found out this morning she's on the pill at least, after I had sex a second time."

"Twice in twenty-four hours? What is this: a relationship?"

I shake my head, taking another swig. "Definitely not. She text me five times today, though."

"What'd she say?"

"_Last night was fun. We should do it again. Did I enjoy myself_? You know, typical morning after girl freak out shit. I text her back and let her know everything was cool. I think she got the hint."

Mark laughs, "She didn't."

"She hasn't text since then." I show him the last message at 3:41 PM.

"She's stalking your Facebook. She's talking to people who know you. She's not done with you yet."

"You don't even know her," I disagree.

"Neither do you," Mark reminds me. "What's her name anyway?"

"I don't know." Mark bursts out laughing. "I think its Michelle or Maggie. She's tall, blond, great body. She has a ridiculously big flower tattoo on her back."

Mark composes his laughter. "Is the flower purple and red?"

My stomach drops. "Shit, did you sleep with her?" I hate the thought of recycling a girl between Mark and me.

"You slept with Megan Lowell."

"Who is Megan Lowell?"

Mark digs his phone from his pocket and slides through until he turns it to me. "Is this the girl from last night?" Sure enough, it's her. I nod. "You slept with the Holy Grail of sorority girl. Megan Lowell doesn't sleep with just anyone. In fact, she's turned me down three times already and even made her last boyfriend wait two months before getting any."

"You're the worst gossip in the world."

"I can't believe you fucked Megan Lowell."

"Stop saying her name like she's a freaking god."

"She isn't a god; she's a goddess." Mark sighs. "I can't believe you had her twice!"

I polish off my beer. "Can we not talk about this? What about you? Who'd you bring home?"

Mark leans back, "Ah, two blonds. One was particularly limber."

"Jesus," I groan and roll my eyes. Sometimes Mark acts like more of a pig than other times.

"Whatever, you had the best ass around. I will forever be in awe of you."

"I gotta go." I push my empty glass away.

Mark shakes his head, "Fuck no. I want details, man!"

"Not tonight. I'm still too hungover for this shit."

"Fine, but I better hear all the dirt tomorrow."

"You got it," I agree and with a wave, head back home.

I wasn't always this way—boozing, taking home any girl who flung herself at me. In fact this is a recent development in my life, and I'm not sure what I think about it. Some days I like it. Mark and I are certainly closer and the lifestyle allows for a lot of fun and meeting a lot of new people. But some days I find it horrifying mundane. Every night a new drink, a new bar, and a new girl to either take home or just shamelessly make out with against a wall. My classes are still first priority, but with med school coming up, fucking around with half of New York isn't going to help me finish with my license.

Mark doesn't see it that way. He finds the whole drinking, hooking up, sleeping to noon thing refreshing every single day. He basks in piles of girls and pounds back the shots with excitement. Mark lives and breathes for our nights out and even though he is on the same track as me, he doesn't seem the least bit worried. Drinking and staying out all night aren't killing his grades either—he thinks they help them—and until he starts failing classes, he'll continue on.

Most days, I ignore the fact that I've become the stereotypical privileged white guy. Other days it's harder to overlook. My dad's business started out shaky in his earlier days—very little revenue, a lot of nights of boxed macaroni and cheese, and never one vacation—but around my thirteenth birthday he was picked up by IKEA and his previously highly-crafted furniture was mass produced into crappy "easy-to-build" shit. The deal brought in more than we expected, so the whole family packed up our Yonkers house and moved to a ridiculously huge house in New Canaan, Connecticut. I hate that house.

That's where my privileged status started. I met Mark—also the son of a millionaire—attended a prep school and wore a freaking tie to school every day. When the SATs rolled around and when I had to make a decision about college, my parents pushed me towards the top schools in the country—Harvard, Yale, Stanford, but I hated the idea of living in the middle of the boonies attending classes with rich assholes. I was now a rich asshole, but I wanted something grittier. To appease my parents and fulfill my own wishes, I chose Columbia. Still full of rich assholes, but its closeness to Harlem was appealing. My parents didn't want me in an ivy league just to tell their sweater wearing friends; in fact, the only reason they pushed so hard for Harvard and Yale was because they wanted only the best for me. Neither had the chance to go to school, so all they wanted was their children to have the chance. Kathleen chose to go to Harvard and then onto Harvard Law and Nancy chose Duke and then med school at Tulane. Sophia rebelled against the money and the name. She's living in Scotland last I heard, but she won't speak to any of us. Amelia is going through the process now, but she's leaning towards UC Davis.

We're privileged. And because we're privileged, the world bows at my feet.

I show up in a bar and everything is free. It's like the owners can smell money coming off my skin. It's mostly Mark's fault, really. He buys into the whole wearing Armani and Gucci, flashing his Amex black card, and rolling up in a souped up Ferrari. I don't care about that shit. The clothes are meaningless and Gap jeans fit better than most. The credit cards—while tucked away in my wallet—never make a real appearance. And the car is ridiculous in New York. I prefer to hoof it or take the subway, much to Mark's horror.

But despite the money and the lifestyle, certain things we can't let go. Like Heartland Brewery and free concerts in the park. Not everything has to be a spectacle, and while I hate Mark most of the time for dragging me headfirst into this life (and my parents by extension), I do enjoy the moments when we live like regular guys.

The girls are a different story entirely. Some of it is just the fact that I'm in college and that's just what college kids do. We have one night stands; we make mistakes; we sleep with inappropriate people. The other part of the story is that I've been burned and the best way to get over a bad ex is to try and forget her. The girls I bring into my bed don't dispel my memories of her, but they grow weaker for the hour I spend with someone else. I'm hoping, eventually, that I won't see her face at all as I kiss someone else.

None of it is an excuse, obviously. I have too much. I give too much. I live too hard.

Most days I hate myself.

Most days I have to remind myself that while my actions may be vile, the person I am is good.

I find myself walking down 8th Avenue back to my apartment. The evening is settling in and the heat from the afternoon seems to only be stuck in the asphalt, not the air. My brain won't turn off and all I keep thinking about is the person I've become. If my parents had known what money would have done to my life, maybe they wouldn't have so readily handed it over. Or maybe, the money has no affect on the person I am. Maybe I was always going to be this way.

My self-pity is nearly as pathetic as my bitching about being wealthy.

I kick a soda can into an alley. Sometimes I hate this city.

turn left to cut across to Greenwich Avenue. I love the liveliness of the West Village in the summer as the sun sets. It's different than Midtown, which is bathed in horrendous light and open-mouthed tourists. The village becomes a lifeline. The people come out onto their stoops and pass a cigarette between three or four of them. They eat fresh popped kettle corn and take long sips out of cans of Pabst. The clickity-clack of high heels in Midtown is replaced with the rough step of boots and the nightclubs and discos are bars and pubs. No one cares nearly as much as they do in Times Square. This is the New York I love.

I stroll across Greenwich to 7th.

Almost home.

Almost home when I hear it.

Not it, really, but her. A woman screams.

I turn around and the road is nearly empty. A woman taking her dog for a walk pauses at the sound and looks over her shoulder. She eyes me accusingly. But it wasn't me and it wasn't her. She continues on, but her shoulders are rigid with tension. Across the street, the bar patrons are boisterous and merry. They didn't hear it.

Then I hear a bang and a grumbled voice. It sounds like a man's voice.

The dog walker is gone and the street is clear. I walk a few steps forward when I hear another bang. It sounds further away. I backtrack and turn onto Perry Street. "Please," a female voice begs.

I start to run down the street. A muffled noise pulls me toward a crevice between two buildings. At first I don't see anything. The sun is too low on the horizon and the buildings are too close together. The streetlamps are barely aglow. But then I see a foot kick out. It's small and it hits something. Someone groans. A muffled cry spills through the alleyway and a man says: "Don't fucking try that again. I will kill you."

There's more muffling and the sound of clothing rustling, as if someone is taking off a heavy jacket.

Nothing registers. I don't think about the likelihood that he has a weapon or how much bigger than me he may be. I just know I can't stand by and watch.

"Hey!" I call down the dark space.

All movement stops.

"Help m—" her voice begins, but is silenced when his hand slashes across her face, smacking her.

"Get out of here man," he warns.

My palms sweat.

In the darkness, my eyes begin to adjust, but I can still just barely make out a woman pressed against the wall. She's small—so much smaller than him—and he has her pinned with his bent arm against the wall. His other hand is hidden somewhere and my stomach coils at the thought of where it could be.

"Leave her alone," I demand, but I know it sounds silly. I don't have a weapon. If he jumps me I'm helpless and if he pulls a gun I'm dead. I roll my shoulders back though and stand tall. _Look opposing_, a voice inside my head says.

The guy laughs. I look pathetic. "You don't want any part of this."

He does something to her I can't see and she cried out. Her face turns away from me, looking down the alleyway, but from the sound of her labored breath, I can tell she's crying.

I don't think. I push into the darkness, my hands out in front of me, and when I come into contact with a warm body, I push. I'm lucky that it's him, but he still has a hold of her. He stumbles into the wall, but she goes with him with a squeak. I reach out, trying to find her arm or waist to pull her away from him, but I only come in contact with his broad chest. He's much, much bigger than me.

Something—I'm guessing his fist—comes in contact with my jaw, followed by a sickening crack. The pain blindsides me. I trip back, fall onto my ass, and instinctively hold my jaw. I see stars and a bright blue light before my eyes and I know it's from the hit. I've never been hit before in my life.

And then she cries again. My eyes adjust slightly and I can see him pushing her up against the wall.

My body is stiff with pain and for a second, I allow myself to feel the full extent of the punch on my jaw. I try to open and close my mouth, hoping it will loosen some of the pain, but it only ignites it further. My left eye waters.

And then she cries out again and whispers, "Please." I'm not sure if it's to him or me, but I begin to react.

As quietly as I can, I force myself onto my hands and knees and crawl along the side of the alleyway. I push myself up onto the balls of my feet, my knees still bent and close to the ground. As I grow closer, I see the man more clearly and I see what his hands are doing to her. He has her left shoulder pinned and his right hand is digging up the front of her shirt. She cries quietly, but I hear her sniffle twice. I have no time. Without another thought, I stomp behind his left knee as hard as I can, causing him to curse in pain and pull away from her.

She drops like a stone, but I collect her before her head touches the ground. Her arms lay by her side like pieces of driftwood and her feet can barely move. She continues to cry.

"You fucker," he growls from the corner.

I just need to get out of the darkness.

The girl doesn't move well, so I half drag, half carry her from the prison and into the fresh air of the street. I hear him moving not far from us, but I don't look back. She whimpers once when I pull her roughly to my side and I throw a "Sorry" her way. We're barely past the crevice, when he comes bounding out, limping and clawing at the side of one of the brownstones. I move faster, pulling her up by her waist against me so her feet don't even touch the ground. She's surprisingly light.

"I'll kill you both!" he growls, but with the bars and the traffic, no one hears.

_Just get to 7th. Just get to 7th._

I'm only ten feet away when I hear a click behind me. My stomach drops. He has a gun.

With the last bit of strength I have, I pull us both onto the well-lit street, where a man is climbing out of the cab. I pull the girl in with me, almost knocking the man out of my way, and slide in with her on top of me. The near-rapist clears Perry Street and stands on the curb. He's younger than I expected—maybe 25—and his nose is dripping with blood. She must have hit him. I smile. He looks left and right, trying to find us for sure, but I sink back into the cab out of view.

He has nothing in his hand, so I can only assume I either imagined the gun, or he has since stowed it out of view. A few pedestrians take note of him, but he doesn't notice.

"Christopher Street," I say and the cabbie raises his eyebrows. We could easily walk that in just a few minutes.

The cab pulls away from the curb and I watch the man scream something down 7th and disappear back onto Perry Street. I should have taken a picture of him for the cops. He's only going to try it again.

The girl sniffles and I readjust her so she's sitting next to me, yet still wrapped in my arms. She keeps her face turned down and continues to cry.

Before I can even ask if she's okay, the cab pulls next to the Bank of America on the corner. I push money through the window and help her from the cab.

She stumbles once onto the curb and then rights herself. My apartment is only a block away.

But why am I taking her to my apartment? Surely she needs a hospital.

I stand on the corner and place my hands carefully on her shoulder, in case he hurt her. People mill around us and some glance my way, but no one stops. If it hadn't been me, would someone else have helped her? I lean down so I am on eye level with her and I meet her glance. Her eyes are watery and her cheeks are red and tear-stained. She worries at her bottom lip. She shivers and wraps her arms around herself.

"I'm going to take you to the hospital."

Immediately she stiffens. "No." Desperation.

"You're hurt."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine. Please."

I drop my hands. "Okay. Okay, I won't take you." She fumbles a bit and I return my hands to her shoulders. "Can I take you back to your house?"

She shakes her head and sniffles again. A fresh round of tears pours from her eyes. I can feel her anguish inside my gut and it makes me sick. I squeeze both her shoulders gently. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe now."

She gasps and turns her face away from me.

I don't know what to do.

Her whole body shakes and I wish I had a coat for her.

"Where do you live?" I ask.

She shakes her head. Why won't she tell me?

"I don't know how to help you," I say honestly.

The girl looks up at me, moving in slow motion. Her eyes are wide and a soft shade of green. Not emerald or sea foam or any of the other ridiculous ways to explain green, but they're a soft, subtle green. Almost hazel. She lets go of her bottom lip and I wait for her to speak, but instead she turns quickly to the side and throws up onto the sidewalk.

I take a big step back, letting go of her shoulders. I look down at the vomit and my stomach turns. _Suck it up. You're going to be a doctor_, I tell myself. When I meet her eyes, she looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Before I can reply her eyes begin to roll back and just as I take her waist into my arms, she passes out.

Everyone is watching us. People seem appalled by her. Teens laugh and adult scowl and I want to shout at all of them. But I don't. And I don't know what to do. The girl is completely still in my arms save for the rising and falling of her chest. I hold her against me, away from the vomit. I should just bring her to the hospital now.

I reach inside my pocket and pull my phone out. I plan to dial 911, but something stops me. Maybe it was the sheer terror in her eyes when I suggested it before or maybe it was her screams from the alleyway, but for some reason I don't call. Instead I return to my previous call list and press 'Send.' The phone rings twice.

"Hey, man we—"

"Mark," I cut him off. "I need your help."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the lovely feedback. I'm happy to see some returning readers and some new ones!**

**Have a great weekend, everyone!  
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><p>"This is so illegal."<p>

I kick my door shut behind us and lay her on the couch. She hasn't stirred since she passed out, but her breathing seems to be even. She didn't hit her head, so there's no damage there. She's just scared and on overload. Yet, in the pit of my stomach I worry for her. I really should bring her to the hospital.

"You're kidnapping her," Mark says.

I find a clean towel in one of my kitchen drawers (thanks Mom!) and I run it under the warm tap water. I ring out the towel and sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. The girl seems so much smaller in my apartment. Her face is slightly dirty and there is some blood on the corner of her lip. Her cheek is swelled from where he hit her, but apart from that, she seems fine. I clean her skin, wiping away the dirt, and I clean the blood away. She already looks better.

With the dirt and the blood gone, I realize how young she is. Younger than me, for sure, but I wonder how old she is. If she's too young, anything I do could be held against me. _No_. I'm helping her. Even if someone questions me carrying her into the apartment, I'm only helping her. Mark is my witness.

I ignore her age and reach behind her to remove her heavy backpack. It must weight what she does.

"I say call the cops now before they think you're a rapist."

"I'm not a rapist," I growl. The images of finding her helpless in the dark make my stomach turn. "Now if you're going to fuck around and make everything worse, leave."

I turn my attention back to the girl. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, but it looks dirty like her skin was. Her clothing is worn on the edges—her jeans frayed, her tee shirt unraveling at the very bottom. Her shoes are sturdy, but stained with dirt. It makes no sense. Something doesn't add up.

"What can I do to help?" Mark asks.

I feel relief. I need someone else's perspective. "Can you get water? Maybe I can try to wake her and get her to drink something." Mark nods and disappears into the kitchen.

I lean my head down until my forehead is pressed into my hands. I can't help but wonder what might have happened if I hadn't come along. Would someone have helped her? I've heard before that if you need help you should yet fire. People are more likely to help if it doesn't involve them getting hurt. Did she yell help without a response? Mark turns on the tap in the kitchen and I cast the thoughts aside. She's okay now.

With a gentle hand I touch her shoulder and shake her. "Hello?" I ask quietly.

She doesn't stir. I shake her again, this time a little harder.

Nothing.

Mark sets the water beside my hip. "Maybe we could like blast music or something."

"I don't want to scare her."

Neither of us says anything more. I try to shake her again, but to no avail. She's out cold. I check her pulse just to be sure and it's as strong as it can be. She's fine, just protecting herself against the evils of the world. I lean my head back into my hands and wait. Mark sits at the end of the couch, close to her but not touching her. He switches between watching her and watching me.

After a while, Mark speaks up, "What happened exactly?"

When Mark showed up, I was bringing her into my building. I gave him the brief story: she was about to be raped and I rescued her, but I couldn't say anything else. I was too worried about her. I was too worried what people would think. I sigh and tell him the whole story. It's strange to stumble over certain words, but thinking of his hands on her and pinning her to the wall makes my blood boil. Mark's quiet and keeps his composure. I wonder if he'd do the same thing for a stranger. And then I feel bad even wondering. Of course Mark would.

I scrub my face and hit the sore spot on my jaw. "Shit," I mutter. I stand up and check my face in the bathroom mirror.

"He hit you hard."

"Yeah, I've never seen stars in my eyes before today."

Mark laughs lowly and then quiets. He sighs, "What happened to the guy?"

"I'm trying not to think of it. If he tried this with her…" I can't even finish my sentence.

Mark's phone rings. He sighs and answers, "Hi Mom." Mark disappears in my bedroom and I return to my seat in front of her.

I glance up at the clock. She's been down for almost thirty minutes. I try to think about my classes, and if there's any helpful information from any of my lectures, but it's useless. My classes are useless. I can't help her. _Unless you call the hospital_, I think. But she looked so afraid when I tried before. I glance at the clock again. 7:03 PM. If she's not awake by 8:00, I'm taking her to the hospital.

"I gotta go," Mark say regretfully. "My mom's here for dinner."

"Yeah, okay." I can't look away from her.

Mark grips my shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything."

I nod. Just as he opens the door I look away from her. "Hey Mark." He turns back to me. "Thanks."

"Anytime buddy," he smiles and leaves.

I force myself away from her side for just a minute. I desperately have to pee and I can't wait another hour to do so. I take as little time as possible in the bathroom, but I don't fail to remember my morning in the shower with the sorority girl. It seems so long ago. I shake my head, almost disgusted in myself. I finish, wash my hands, and take my seat in the living room.

For the first time since I was little, I want to call my mom for help. She'd know what to do. She's always so level-headed and reasonable. Maybe all moms are that way, but she's exactly who I need right now. I pick up my phone to call her, but then decide against it. How can I explain to her that I didn't even think to take a picture of the near-rapist? He's out there now prowling for another victim and I could have stopped him. The thought makes my head hurt. I can't think of it. I saved her. It's not enough, but it's something.

I notice her backpack I took off before and I become curious. What does she have in there that would be so heavy? I lean down to unzip the smallest pocket when she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

Her immediate response is fear. She curls away from me, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing her back into the couch. She hasn't seen me in such direct light. I smile softly. "It's okay. You're safe. You're in my apartment—Christopher and Bleeker—in New York. Do you remember what happened?"

Recognition crosses her face and she loosens her grip on her legs. She nods. "You saved me."

I remember the glass of water and offer it to her. She takes it willingly and sits up, pulling the glass to her lips. For a few seconds all I can hear is the sound of her throat processing the water. She stares at me over the rim and normally I would find it odd, but after the evening she's had I let it go. She finishes the water and hands me the glass. "Thanks," she says and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I hadn't noticed how dirty her fingernails were until now. "How long have I been passed out?"

"Thirty minutes, a little more. How do you feel?"

Her face falls slightly. "Did I throw up on you?"

"No. Near me, but not on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey," I reach out tentatively and touch the back of her hand. It's still wet from the water and her lips. "Please don't apologize. You've been through a lot tonight."

Her cheeks flush and she looks away. "Yeah."

I sigh and lean closer to her, "Can you tell me what happened?"

She shutters and wraps her arms around her waist. I pull the blanket off the arm of the couch and spread it out before placing it across her shoulders. "Thanks," she offers me a brief smile. She pulls either end of the blanket into her hands. "I was walking to Washington Square Park," she begins. "It was going to be dark soon and…" she pauses, catches my eye, and looks back down at her hands. "I was meeting someone there. He came out of nowhere." Her voice breaks.

I squeeze her hand reassuringly.

She closes her eyes. "He dragged me between the buildings. You came right after he brought me down there. I screamed before he he stopped me."

"I heard you scream."

She begins to cry quietly. "I didn't think anyone would come." Her hand comes to life in mine and she squeezes it hard. "Thank you so much."

I wrap the back of her hand in my other. "I'm just glad you're okay." She uses the back of her hand to mop up the tears. "You are okay, right?"

"I'm fine."

"He didn't do anything to you?"

She shakes her head, "Nothing. You stopped him." Fresh tears trail down her cheeks.

"You're okay. You're safe here. Can I get you anything? More water? Some food?"

She touches her stomach. "Food would be good. And, where's your bathroom?" she colors.

I point her in the right directly and retire to the kitchen to find something decent for her to eat. All I have in the cabinets is rice mix, some olives, and a can of refried beans. In the fridge, is leftover Chinese food, the one taco from last night, a lot of beer, and an apple. I grab the Chinese and the apple and lay out the food. By the time the food is done heating, she's made her way back into the living room. She looks cleaner still.

I bring the food and one beer. I still doubt she's of age. I hand her a fork. She doesn't say anything, but digs straight into the food, discarding the apple onto the couch next to her. She smells fresh, like my soap. I notice her face looks dewy.

She eats ravenously, like she hasn't eaten in months. She's very thin, maybe she hasn't.

And then I notice her backpack again. The pieces start to fall into place.

"I don't even know your name."

She swallows a particularly large mouthful of lo mein. "Meredith."

"I'm Derek."

After that she eats more rationally. It takes her no time to finish the plate and I expect her to ask for more. She doesn't. She sets the plate besides her hip on the couch. "Should we call your friend?"

Her eyes widen, "What friend?"

"The one you were meeting in the park."

"Oh, no. I mean, it wasn't set in stone or anything."

I nod slowly. She's lying. I nod to her backpack. "You're carrying a lot with you. Are you a student around here?"

She glances at me and then looks to my south facing wall. "No. I'm sightseeing."

"You're a tourist then." She nods. "I'm surprised to see you so far down the island. Where are you from?"

"I should get going," she says and I know I'm losing her.

"Are you staying around here?"

"Yeah, not too far." She stands and picks up her pack. She crumbles, slightly, under the weight.

I stand as well, trying to subtly block the door. "I can walk you. You know, after everything's that's happened today."

She adjusts the straps on her back. "No, I'm fine really."

Her hair is the color of straw and her skin is pale and washed out—as if she's undernourished or hiding from the sun permanently. "I really think I should walk you."

Meredith rights herself and pulls the straps of her pack over her boobs. I try not to notice, but I do. Her eyes narrow, as if she's caught me, and she pushes around the small amount of space between me and the door. "I'm good. I'm a big girl. I don't need a babysitter." Anger. Defensiveness.

I put my hand out to stop the door. She takes a step away from me. "Who are you running from?" I ask.

The anger grows in her eyes. "What are you talking about?" I also see panic. I'm trapping her, which isn't nice—not after what she experienced. But unlike the fucked up guy from the alley, I won't hurt her.

"You're carrying your body weight on your back. You're unnaturally thin, look like you haven't really showered in weeks, and you eat like you haven't seen food before. And I know you're not a tourist. And you have nowhere to stay." I pause, trying to read something in her face, but she's gone blank. "And I _know_ you're not eighteen."

For a second I think she might break and tell me everything—confirm my suspicions, but her eyes only narrow further. "You don't _know_ anything about me."

"So where are you staying?" I cross my arms and stand in front of the door.

"It's none of your fucking business," she seethes. "Now let me go."

"Stay here," I offer.

"Are you cracked? I don't know you and you're pretty much holding me against my will right now."

"It's safe here. You might not know me, but I'm a good guy. You can sleep in my spare room. Out there, it's not safe, which you'd think you'd've realized by now." I hear myself growing mean. I sigh. "That guy isn't the only one, who can hurt you, and you don't know me, but I'm offering you somewhere to stay, at least for tonight."

Meredith's quiet resolve makes me anxious. I don't know why I feel compelled to keep her here, but after taking a fist to the jaw for her, I want to make sure she lives another day. May it's the hero in me—or the part of me that _believes_ I _can_ be a hero—but if I have the ability to help her, I will.

After a minute, she pulls her backpack straps tighter and drops her crossed arms. "I don't _know_ you. Please let me go," her voice breaks, as does my determination.

I step aside and let her pass. What else can I do?

As she reaches the top step, I say, "Wait!" she pauses. I scramble to my desk drawer in the spare bedroom and pull out a piece of paper. I scribble down the essentials and meet her at the top of the stairs. "Call me, if you need anything. I might be a stranger to you, and so is everyone else out there, but I saved you and that should count for something."

She pauses and eyes the slip of paper where I've written my cell phone number, my full name, and my address. And then she takes it. "Thanks…for everything," she says awkwardly. And then she's gone.

I drag my fingers through my hair. _Good going, Shepherd._

At my front window, I watch her leave my building and continue down the street. She pauses at the corner and looks back over her shoulder. For a moment, I allow myself to believe she'll return and allow me to look out for her. But she turns away again and disappears around a building.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you again for the wonderful comments. I'm happy you're enjoying the story thus far. For those of you not commenting, I'm happy you're reading and (hopefully) enjoying as well.**

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><p>I spend the next three days walking all over Manhattan. I start in the Village and walk lower to Downtown and Battery Park, before doubling back and worming through every street until Midtown. Midtown is a mad house and trying to find anyone in that mass is comical. I walk for hours, stopping only for the bathroom and sustenance. I spot familiar people—kids from class, kids from parties, kids from bars—but they're not her, so I continue on. I think I spot her at least a dozen times: a blond, backpack-toting woman, but when I step in her path, it's always someone else, and she always thinks I'm crazy.<p>

Of course I'm irrational. If anything was wrong she could call me. But in the back of my mind, I worried she wouldn't.

Mark thought I was acting crazy. "She's fine man," he assured me a half dozen times, but it didn't placate the gnawing feeling in my gut that New York is not a safe haven for a teenage runaway. And this girl would not make it out alive.

I neglected my Friday shift at NYSTEM and then neglect the three phone calls from Dr. Weaver. I might be fired from my volunteer position, but I didn't care. Something about Meredith makes me not care. Maybe, for the first time since my life changed, maybe I can be more than the guy in the bar taking home the girl in the bar. Maybe I could make a difference and change a life.

Maybe that life will be my own.

By the end of Sunday, my third day looking for her, I've turned up empty handed. She's out there, somewhere, and I'll never find her. This is New York after all.

I meet Mark at Heartland Brewery a little after four. I don't really remember how the chain restaurant, right in Port Authority, became our favorite spot. Somehow, along the way, we realized we loved watching people meander in and out of the city. We realized we liked watching men get drunk on a Friday night after they missed the early bus. It became something more than just a brew pub with an unfortunate location.

He's already finishing his first beer as I take a seat and orders two more.

Somehow Mark's always at the bar long before me.

"You look like shit," he remarks.

"Thanks man. I feel awesome."

I feel the worst I've felt in a long, long time. The last three days have been filled with so much anxiety and panic. I don't even know Meredith the Runaway, but knowing that I didn't do enough to keep her safe is making me a crazy person. Plus she reminds me of Amelia. So I haven't slept much and I've basically been eating only McDonald's French fries and drinking beer. I'm running on empty and still, I have nothing to show for it.

"No luck finding your runaway?"

I shake my head, nod to the bartender as he puts down my drink, and sling back a long sip. "None at all. I think she might have left the Village, which makes it impossible to find her."

"After what she went through, I'd leave the Village too. Shit, I'd get the fuck out of New York."

"Do you think she did? Leave New York, I mean."

Mark looks up at the big screen TV over the bar. He shrugs. "Maybe. But it doesn't make a lot of sense unless she ended up in another city. There's not much on the outskirts besides Stepford wives and white picket fences."

He's right, of course. Even if Meredith did head up to White Plains; down to Hoboken; or out to Mineola, there isn't much around and her safety is still in jeopardy. "She could be halfway to LA by now."

"Or halfway to the moon," Mark suggests. "Isn't it a good thing though? You don't have to deal with this."

"It's not okay. Even if she is in Philadelphia or Boston or Chicago, I still don't know if she's okay."

"Look, not to sound insensitive, but why do you care?"

It's impossible to put into words. But I try, "I don't know who she is or why she ran, but I have a feeling it's not good. You saw her. She's pale and thin and hadn't had a real shower in what looked like weeks. She's young and clearly vulnerable. She's alone, which makes me wonder how her home life is, and someone has to give her a leg-up. I'm not qualified or anything, but I just can't sit by and let some sixteen-year-old girl lose everything, including her life, because somewhere down the line someone treated her badly." I shake my head. "I just want to help."

Mark stares for a second and then breaks into an inappropriate smile. "Shit man, you're so insightful and passionate."

"Fuck you," I grumble and chug half my beer. Apparently, I just need to be alone in my anxiety.

"No, look, sorry man," Mark says quickly. He's put on his apology face. "I didn't mean it like that. Or, well, I did, but it was shitty to say. I get it," he says. "I get the fear and the uncertainty. You saved her and had the chance to do it again, and you're freaked. I get that. But why this girl? Why not save one of the other thousands of runaways or homeless people here?"

I've been asking myself that since I heard her scream. "I have no idea, but maybe I see potential there."

"Potential for what?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure yet."

I don't have any more time to worry about Meredith because when I return to my apartment, I have a note stuck to me door. At first I think it's from her, but I'm quickly disappointed.

_Derek, _

_Meet me at the Starbucks next to the Christopher Street station._

_-Dad_

I can't keep him waiting.

I make the two minute journey with only a slight drag in my step. My father and I have a great relationship, don't get me wrong, but whenever he stops by it worries me. I don't have time to deal with his troubles because I have plenty of my own to deal with; mainly trying to find Meredith the Runaway. Maybe my father is the perfect distraction.

As usual, Starbucks is full of semi-intelligent looking NYU students, all pretentiously reading Proust and William Blake and discussing the philosophy of the best New York cookie: Milk & Cookies or Jacque Torres? (Milk & Cookies!) My dad has nestled himself between two incredibly close tables with two coffee cups in front of him. He looks up as he takes a sip and I can tell he's seen me. His blue eyes are as expressive as mine.

My dad was once a dashing young man, as my mother loves to remind us constantly. Dad had been in the military at the age of eighteen and stayed on a base in North Carolina the entire time. They met just before he left, wed less than seven months later, and had Kathleen not long after. My dad was a strapping young man, with no education, but an ability to work wood. They worked hard and, well, you know where they ended up. Mom never worked, even though she probably should have, but she was busy raising five children and running a household. Now we hire people to run our household, and I suspect, if we weren't old enough already, Mom might have hired someone to raise us as well.

"Derek," he booms and shakes my hand. A few people at the local tables glance over. The volume of my dad's voice is something you have to get used to. "Good to see you and so soon after I stopped by." I wonder if my dad would have just let my coffee grow cold if it took me longer to get his note.

I take a sip. The coffee tastes weird in my mouth after beer. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing really. Just wanted to see my only son." He flashes me a winning smile.

I play into his bit. "Yeah? How long are you here for? We could go to dinner."

Dad shakes his head, "Probably not that long. Your mom wants me home by eight so we can see a movie together." I nod, not really knowing what I could say back. Dad doesn't give me time to worry, though. "How's the new job?"

Ah, that's what this is about.

"The first day was fine." A lie, but at least I went.

"And the second?" he prompts.

I sigh and glance out the window. I love him, of course, but his need to be so involved is more of a curse than a blessing. "Don't pretend you didn't already know I missed my second day."

"Dr. Weaver is a good friend of mine," Dad starts, but I've heard it all before.

"Am I fired?" I interrupt.

"No, you're not fired. Der, why did you miss work already? Were you out with Mark all night?"

Mom and Dad don't pretend they don't know what's going on in my life. They read my credit card statements, after all. They probably see the many purchases from local bars, clubs, and liquor stores, and being that they're not idiots, they've put two and two together.

Either way, my parents are privy to the way I lead my life and definitely privy to the way Mark leads his. His parents aren't usually as understanding as mine. There's been talk of inheritance slipping away and trust funds being cut off.

"I wasn't out with Mark." I weigh my options. I could lie and say I slept through my alarm and the various phone calls, but with my shift starting at noon, it would be near impossible to write those four hours as sleeping in. I could tell the truth. But something about Meredith missing makes me want to keep her a secret.

I don't get a chance to lie.

"Derek, I honestly don't care why you didn't make it to work, but I can swear to you that if you miss another day, you'll be fired. You need this internship for medical school. Are beers and bars really worth more than your future career?"

"Of course not." Nothing is more important than my career.

Dad nods, "Good. I just want you to find a balance between your studies and your social life. You're twenty-one, you deserve to have some fun, but you're also on the path to a very important career."

"I know that." I feel like a child, being reprimanded for taking an extra cookie.

"Your mother and I are so proud of you. We're proud of all of you." I wonder if he counts Sophia in this list—even though she's off gallivanting in Europe—but I suspect he does. "Kathleen and Nancy are excelling and you're following very closely in their footsteps." Sophia is excluded, of course. "And Amelia, of course, is the top of her class. We don't know how we raised five such overachieving children, but we're so, so proud of you. _I_ am proud of you. I just don't want to see all your hard work thrown away."

I sigh and glance out the window.

"Did I ever tell you about my days before marrying your mother?" I shake my head, even though he's told me hundreds of times. "I was wild, much like your friend Mark." He smirks. "I drank and smoked and slept with any woman who crossed my path. But then I joined the military and shaped up."

"Are you telling me to join the military?"

"No, Derek, I'm not telling you to join the military, but something has to give. You can't live this way and get a medical degree. You'll never make it."

I curl my fingers into a fist at my side. "Thanks for the confidence boost, dad."

"It's just a fact of life, Derek. I know you will succeed admirably as a surgeon, but you can't be cutting people open with a massive hangover. You can't pass the tests while drinking at a bar. You have to focus, Derek."

"I got it, Jesus dad. Did you really come all the way here just to belittle me?"

"I'm not belit—"

"Are you really going to fight me on this right now? Seriously? You're belittling me. I know I live my life the wrong way. I know I shouldn't be so concerned with beer and bars and girls, but it's the summer. It's this my time to have fun?"

"You still have responsibilities, Derek."

I stand up. "I'm leaving. Thanks for the coffee."

As I turn, he calls after me. I continue to walk away like a five-year-old child. Father knows best, maybe, but father needs to learn how to give a child space. Ever since I decided to attend Columbia as a pre-med student, my father has been riding me and riding me, and the string holding us together is wearing thin. I can't live up to the expectations Kathleen and Nancy laid out. I'm not them and I may be taking a different path, but the end result will be the same.

My father's lack of education (and my mother's by some extent) has made him prone to being overbearing. He hovers and accuses and doesn't realize when his presence in my life is too much—too over-the-top. Dad believes he's doing what's best for us, but breathing down my neck at every turn is a far cry from being a good parent. I need to live my own mistakes.

Dad catches up to me. "We don't walk away during an argument," he scolds.

"I'm going home. I'll see you for Kathleen's birthday." That gives me three weeks to cool down.

"Talk to me, Derek."

I turn and stare at my father. We're carbon copies of one another physically. He's just an inch shorter than me, but has the same dark, dark hair and blue eyes. We're built the same too, with lean muscles and not much brute strength. Sometimes I even see my own expressions on his face.

I sigh slowly to calm myself and then say: "I appreciate you worrying about me Dad, but it's unnecessary. I'm an adult and whether or not you agree with my lifestyle, it doesn't matter. I have a four-point-oh in school and I attend every single class. I missed my internship last week, yes, but the situation was important and I won't miss it again. I might not lock myself away and study every hour of the day like Nancy or Kathleen, but I'll end up a surgeon, so who cares how I got there?"

"I just wish you wouldn't have missed Friday."

I nod, "I'll call and apologize today."

"That'd be good." He squeezes my shoulder. "I should get home. Your mother is waiting."

"Try not to worry about me Dad. Worry about Amelia. I'm sure she loves it."

Dad looks to the sky and slowly shakes his head, "Your sister may have perfect grades, but she's boy crazy."

I smirk, "It runs in the family."

"Yeah, I guess it does," he laughs, gives me a quick (very manly!) hug and heads down the stairs into the subway.

With my dad gone, and only a few hours left to look for Meredith, I cut across Bleeker Street to 6th Avenue and up to Washington Square Park. As I walk along West 4th, I decide tonight is my last night of searching. I can walk block after block, and I will never find her. New York is too big and she is too small in the grand scheme of things. And, there's no guarantee she's still here. Maybe she's run off to Chicago or Boston, or maybe she's returned home. For all I know, she's sitting next to her parents on a porch swing, apologizing for her stupidity.

But with a few hours of sunlight left, I walk the streets because I have to know I at least tried. It's like when a smoker tastes his last cigarette, and he can quit afterwards because he enjoyed it like his last. I walk through the park, savoring the search, because I know it's my last day of trying to find her.

If she wanted to be found, she would have been at my apartment.

The park is bustling, even with school out for summer. Locals, not of the college caliber, enjoy the early evening sun and bask along the central fountain. Tourists snap photos of the archway and the trees and the sky. Children play in the fountain and run up and down the stone seating. Couples lay out on blankets and men in Speedos sunbathe with a beer in hand. Normally I'd love to sit down on one of the benches and observe, but with no indication that she's here, I move on.

I decide to walk up until I'm on 5th and trail along the high-end stores. It's doubtful that she'd find herself in such a well-manicured area, but it's one of the few spots I have yet to scour. Most of the pedestrians are carrying bags marked Mark Jacobs, Armani, and Fendi, while a slight few have Gap, H&M, and Zara. Everyone has a phone clutched in hand or pressed to an ear, and almost half the crowd has a Starbucks cup in hand. It's disgusting how materialistic this city is, but it's nice to see that some people still have money in the horrible economy.

I cut across to Times Square and fight my way through the crowds. The local to tourist population is 1 to 8,000 here, and I desperately look for someone not holding a camera and wearing a fanny pack on his or her front. Parents scream for their children and children chase after pigeons and taxis and other people. The place is chaos and I feel a brain aneurism forming. I jump on the 1 train, desperate to be as far away from the neon lights as possible, and ride 10 minutes back home.

It's still light out, but I'm exhausted from days without sleep, and I just want to lie down on my couch with a beer and go to bed before 10. As I round the corner at Bleeker, I see her sitting on my stoop. My heart begins to race. She sees me and stands up. She looks worse than last time, and it's only been three days. She seems dirtier, and thinner, and broken.

I pick up the pace.

As I approach my steps, she walks down two until we're standing just a foot from one another. Her eyes are sad. Her posture is defeated.

All I want to do is hug her. I'm so happy she's okay!

"Can I stay here?" she asks. Her voice is rough.

I nod. "Are you hungry?"

Her eyes light up, and I take that as a yes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for my delay! I've been traveling for work and moving into a new apartment, so my time hasn't been for me.**

**I'm distraught after the finale and need to take a moment to not think about the show. Hopefully, this will help distract you as well.  
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><p>I sit and wait on the couch while Meredith showers. Clearly I wasn't thinking when I offered her a place to stay. I couldn't have been thinking. She's a runaway. She's underage, probably. And I know nothing about her. But after days of searching for her, it seemed like the only option. I had to do something.<p>

But knowing she's showering in my bathroom seems so permanent.

I fidget in my seat. There's nothing else to do. The dishes are cleaned up from dinner, Carla came to clean earlier, and my computer battery is dead and Mark has the cord. I sit and lean my ear towards the bathroom, waiting to hear the water turn off, but it continues to run. I stand up and wipe my palms on my jeans. This is the biggest mistake ever. Meredith could be anyone. She could be a murderer; she could be an escaped convict. Her name might not even be Meredith.

She's going to steal everything I own.

I should call my dad. He'd know what to do.

Pacing the room seems to be helping. I can think and clear my head. Nothing is permanent and maybe after a few nights with food and shower access, she'll continue on her merry way with nothing more than a goodbye wave. After all, she can't really think I'd be able to put her up indefinitively. Pacing gradually becomes headache inducing, so I sit back down on the couch and stare at the wall. My thoughts are moving too rapidly for me to keep up, so I gradually close my eyes and wait for my mind to clear.

Eventually, the shower stops and I hear nothing.

My phone notifies me I have a new text message. I slide to unlock and read: _Garage in 10?_

Garage is a jazz bar Mark likes to troll for older, divorced women.

_Can't. Busy. I'll explain later._

The bathroom door opens minutes later and Meredith pads into the room wearing an oversized tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants—both donated by me. She looks warm.

"Sorry I took so long," she sighs and folds herself into the arm chair across from me. She blushes and looks away, embarrassed.

"It's okay," I shrug nonchalantly.

I look at Meredith and she looks at me. The room is quiet, but outside is alive with life. As the weekend comes to a close, everyone gathers for one last drink before the work week begins. Friends meet at their favorite pub and gossip about the weekend breakups and makeups. Couples rekindle their romance over martinis and soft jazz. First daters learn about past loves, past losses, and everything in between. And I sit in the room with a perfect stranger, staring and wondering how I'm going to force her out of my life.

With the dirt and grime cleaned from her skin, I'm aware of how fragile she looks. Her bones stick out from her skin, stretching it nearly translucent. She has little cuts on her upper arms and one large cut across her neck, but none look particularly painful. Meredith's blue veins stand out under the neon lights from the bar across the street and the dark bags under her eyes pulse purple. I've never seen anyone look so rundown, yet strangely, she's still attractive. Her features are light and delicate and her hair is the color of straw, but looks much smoother. And again, her eyes are an indescribable grey-green.

But beneath her outer appearance, there is so much more going on. She's run, but was it really worth it? Could her life on the streets—being nearly raped in a dark alleyway—really be worth all the hassle? Surely whoever or whatever caused her to flee to New York City must be substantially worse than the life she's living now. I can tell, just by looking at her arms wrapped around her legs and her ridged demeanor that she's not going to tell me.

I don't know what to say or do.

My phone rings again. _No. Come now. 35 yr old. No kids. Come now._

I ignore his message.

"I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from something important."

I shake my head and turn my phone to silent. "It's nothing. So…" I turn to look at her. She wrings her hands against her bent knees, but says nothing. Awkward… I look around the room for some sort of distraction, but the room is just as stark as any other day.

Meredith's searching the room as well and when our eyes meet, we both timidly smile.

"This is weird," she says.

I feel relived. "Yeah."

"I can go," she suggests.

Now is my moment to let her go. I can hand her a regretful speech, about how I wish I could help her, but it all seems to be too much for me. I can apologize profusely and offer to help her to get back to where she came from. I can offer money and a map to the best shelters. She'll allow it, of course, because she has to think this is crazy. She wouldn't suggest leaving if she didn't think this was absolutely crazy.

But there's something in the way she focuses on me; something about the way her eyes narrow, but hold onto their vulnerability, that make me want to keep her safe and sound.

I have my moment, but it passes.

"Stay."

Meredith's eyes narrow slightly, gauging me, and then she relaxes. "Okay."

I tentatively smile at her. "Maybe if we got to know each other, this wouldn't be so weird."

She visibly tenses, but masks her emotions on her face. Her lips are a thin line, but the rest of her face is relaxed. "You first," she suggests, and I know she won't be sharing much.

"Okay, I'm Derek Shepherd. I'm twenty-one and a student at Columbia. I'm pre-med and will graduate next year. I've lived here since the fall. I'm originally from Yonkers, but moved to Connecticut a few years back. My parents still live there." I try to drum up something more interesting about me. "I have four sisters; three older, one younger. So far we're all going to be doctors—except my sister Sophia. It's up to Amelia if she follows in our footsteps." Meredith listens attentively and nods every few words. "I guess that's it."

"Why did you choose to become a doctor?"

As often as I'm asked my name, I'm asked about my future profession—and both are much more frequent than I'd like. Almost everyone wants to know why the Shepherd children have chosen such a difficult profession, especially coming from two uneducated parents. Of course Meredith doesn't know any of this, and for once it feels like someone is asking not to judge based on my sisters' careers, but to see where my passion really comes from.

"I want to help people," I say with a shrug.

"Why not become a fireman or a police officer then?"

"My hair turns to shit in the heat and I'm a lover, not a fighter," I grin.

Meredith smiles, but her grin slips away. She eyes me carefully, seriously. "You fought the other night, for me. I know I've already thanked you, but I can't say it enough. What you did… well, it's not the norm. Not everyone is so nice to a seventeen-year-old runaway."

"Seventeen," I repeat.

The blood drains from her face, "Shit," she mutters.

"So you're an underage runaway."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's fine. I want to know about you. Where are you from?"

Meredith sighs and drops her legs to the floor, leaning forward until her elbows rest on her knees. "Look, Derek, you've been so nice. I mean, no one would do for me what you've done. The food, the place to stay, the shower… you have no idea how nice it was to shower," she says with a slight smile, but it quickly slips away. "You've been great and I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I can't tell you things. I have to protect myself and if you know my full name, my hometown, my age… you could turn me in and I can't risk that."

"But I wouldn't—"

"And I can't trust that either. I can't trust anyone but myself."

She's so willing to take help, but won't give anything in return. "Then why are you here? If you can't trust anyone, why do you trust me?"

She leans back in the chair and pulls her legs back up against her chest. "I can't trust you, not really, but I'm trying. I'm desperate," she colors. "And if you want to know things about me, and it's a deal breaker not to, then I'll leave."

Again, I have an out. I should take the out. For all I know, Meredith is running from the mafia after stealing pounds and pounds of drugs. She could be an addict or a con artist. She could be waiting for me to sleep before taking everything I own.

Or, she could just be a scared teenager who hasn't received a single leg-up.

"I understand protecting your anonymity and I respect that. But you have to understand that I am putting my trust in you. You're in my house and I don't know you."

"I won't steal from you," she bites back.

"Good. The point is we should just trust each other. Okay?"

For a long moment it seems Meredith mulls it over, before finally nodding. "Alright."

"I just want to know one thing." Her eyes widen. "Is anyone chasing you? Have you pissed someone off and they're tracking you?"

Meredith relaxes. "No. No one's following me."

"Okay."

"Okay," Meredith adds.

"So what happened the last three days?"

Meredith turns away.

I force my frustration away, even though I feel it boiling under my skin. I see where this is going. She's never going to tell me anything. How long can this last?

And how long does she expect to stay?

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Stop apologizing." I say with a hint of annoyance in my voice. "I get easily frustrated. I'm working on it," an apology, or at least the start of an apology. "You have to understand how hard it's going to be to have you here if you won't tell me anything."

She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. "You said you understand."

"I understand you not wanting to talk about your past, but the last three days has nothing to do with where you came from or your full name. I'm trying here, but it's going to be hard if you keep everything from me."

"I don't know you," she quips.

She's infuriating. "Maybe not, but this is what you have." I motion to the apartment around me. "If I'm going to put you up for the foreseeable future, I think I'm allowed a few details."

Meredith stands abruptly. "I'm sorry I've been such a bother to you."

"You haven't been a bother, Meredith. I just want to make sure nothing happened to you in the last three days."

"And what if something had? Do you think I'd really want to talk about it? I don't _know_ you."

"What happened?" I ask, feeling panic replace the anger.

She turns and grabs her bag from the floor. "It's none of your business."

I jump up from my seat and grab her arm. She twists away from me harshly, shooting me a look of disgust and horror. Her mouth tenses and she pulls her arm to her chest. "I'm sorry," I sputter and hold my hands up in surrender. "Talk to me."

Meredith continues to hold her arm, but her face relaxes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you want me to do? You've come here, telling me nothing, thanking me for helping you, but I'm at a loss. I don't know how to help you."

"The food and the shower, that's good."

"So what, I just let you come and go as you please? I feed you. I give you a place to stay? And then what?"

Meredith releases her arm. "I don't know."

"This is crazy," I say more to myself than to her, and I turn and begin to pace the length of space from the coffee table to the bookshelf.

"It is," she agrees.

"We don't know each other. You're a minor, which looks really bad on me. And I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have a known runaway in your house without reporting you to the police. And I have a life and friends. How am I supposed to explain this to them?" I pause and look at Meredith. She's so rundown and for some crazy reason, I feel like I _have_ to help her. "But despite all of it, I have to help you. I don't care if it's for three days or three months. I just…" I'm embarrassing myself. "I just have to." I stop pacing.

Meredith sighs and looks away from me. "If it's too much to have me here—" she begins to reiterate.

"It's not," I cut her off. "We'll just have to figure out a schedule I guess. I have a spare key, and we can move from there."

"I won't stay forever," she promises.

She seems so young. "Stay as long as you need."

"I'm tired," she sighs and I notice her eyelids have grown heavy.

"Come on, I'll show you your room."

I remember fighting my parents about the two bedroom apartment when they brought me here. I said I've never need a second bedroom if I was going to live alone, but they liked the idea of staying with my in the city. I've been here for almost a year, and no one's ever stayed in this room. I flick on the lights and step aside for Meredith. She walks in slowly, tentatively, but her eyes scan the room with wonder. It must have been forever since she's slept comfortably.

"The sheets are new," I mention. "And you can close the window if you get cold or if it's too loud."

"I'll be fine," she assures me. She smiles once. "Thank you, Derek."

"I'll be up for a while if you need anything."

Meredith nods and heads toward the bed. She pulls back the comforter and the sheet and gracefully slides in. She eyes me curiously as I stand by the door, watching her. "I'll turn off the light," I say just as she lays her head down. "Goodnight, Meredith."

"Goodnight, Derek," she whispers just as I turn off the light.

I sit for a long, long while in the living room staring at absolutely nothing. I've made plenty of mistakes in my life, especially during my high school years. I've been arrested for setting an old rickety barn on fire with my friends; I've been reprimanded for stealing our rival high school's mascot costume; and I've even been accused of slashing tires—which never happened. I've made mistakes with girls and women, promising to call and never following up, and having sex for the first time in a public restroom and never calling again. But I've never met a mistake head-on and decided to proceed anyway.

Having Meredith under my roof is a mistake. It's clearly the biggest mistake I could ever make, but for some unknown, ridiculous, and absurd reason, I'm not pushing her out the door. I'm embracing the mistaken before it unfolds and greeting it happily. I have no idea why I know it's a mistake—there's no real indication—but it just seems appropriate. Nothing good can come of harboring a seventeen-year-old runaway in your apartment.

The apartment is quiet, but there's an eerie feeling lingering in the air. It's the feeling that I know someone foreign is in my house, so I can't move or breathe like a normally do, but I don't move to leave. So I sit with the feeling, stare at the wall ahead, and wonder how deep I'll be in when all of this explodes in my face.

My phone indicates a new text message and I'm pulled from my ravine.

_I haven't heard from you. Want to get together tonight?_

Megan, from the other night, texts me. I've completely forgotten about her.

With Meredith the Runaway safe in the next room, so many aspects of my life seem more ridiculous than ever. Firstly, I was so concerned Meredith might steal from me—okay, not too concerned, but it had crossed my mind—but almost every night, I have a new girl spending her time between my sheets, and I never once consider them thieves. The second thought I have considers the words of my father: _Are beer and bars really worth more than your future career?_ Am I really willing to throw my career away from my social life? I'm not, at the moment, hurting myself detrimentally, but will there come a time that I can't mix what I _want_ to do with what I _have_ to do?

It seems like everything I thought I knew is one it's head. Of course I knew my lifestyle wasn't at all well-managed, but I'm twenty-one and it _is_ the summer. But I can't write off my responsibilities. I can't miss another shift at NYSTEM again. Maybe this is my chance to prove to myself that I don't need this lifestyle, especially since I'm not sure I particularly like it.

Just as the errant thought crosses my mind, Mark's name pops up on my phone.

"I'm downstairs. Let me in," he demands, sounding royally pissed off.

My stomach drops and I glance toward Meredith's door. _Meredith's door_, I think again. Too much.

"I'll be right down."

I pocket my keys and phone and slip out of my apartment. I can only hope Meredith doesn't wake up during my absence.

Mark waits by the front door, his hands buried in his pockets. He eyes me curiously. I never meet him downstairs. I can't really hide much from him.

"What's up?" I try to act unfazed by the teenager currently sleeping in my apartment.

"I should ask you the same thing. What's going on?" he nods to my apartment building. "Can I come up for a beer?"

I've never kept secrets from Mark, mostly because there's never been anything to keep from him, but also because he's pretty good at detecting when someone's lying to his face. I'm also a horrible liar—unless talking to my parents. I decide to come clean. "The runaway's in my apartment."

Mark's eyes grow wide as he skims my building and settles on the front window, which, oddly enough, happens to feature Meredith's room. _Meredith's room_, there it is again. "How?"

I explain Meredith showing up at my door and agreeing to help her. I leave out my thoughts, of course, because I'm not sure if I'm ready to admit that I think this might be the biggest mistake I've ever made. Then again, as I keep hoping, maybe it will help me in some strange way.

"That's really fucking stupid."

I fail to mention she's seventeen.

"Maybe, but what was I supposed to do?"

"Call the cops. That's what I'd do."

I shake my head. "I can't do that."

"This is fucked up man."

I run a hand through my hair and consider how crazy the situation is. I _know_ I shouldn't be doing this, just like I _know_ I shouldn't have skipped work on Friday, but whether I shouldn't do it or I should, doesn't really matter. I am doing this. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm not going to leave her alone."

"Call. The. Cops." Mark reiterates.

"It feels wrong."

Mark sighs, "This is going to get fucked up really fast, Derek. So what, you're now responsible for some random girl's welfare? What happens if she gets sick? What happens if she's being followed by someone and they find her here?"

"She said no one's following her."

"Yeah, and she could tell you she's dancer in the ballet and you'd believe her. You don't know this girl and allowing her in your apartment—especially when you're not there all the time—is absolutely insane. You have to see that."

"I do see it, but I want to help."

Mark steps down my stoop, his hands raised in defeat. "Do what you want. Keep the girl forever. Feed her, clothe her, fall in love with her or whatever, but I'm out of this."

"Mark," I sigh.

"Sorry man, but I'm not getting wrapped up in this crazy scheme. I don't trust that girl and if you do, you're absolutely fucking insane."

"So what? We're not hanging out anymore?"

"As long as you're involved in this, no, we're not hanging out. I'm not going down for your mistakes."

"Awesome Mark, thanks for the fucking support," I spit through my teeth. "Have a fucking blast getting drunk every _single_ night and fucking a new girl. I hope you really fucking enjoy your boring as shit life."

Mark takes it in stride. He smirks, which makes me increasingly anger. "I will enjoy my carefree life. You enjoy babysitting and turning into a fucking dick. Call me if your little runaway decides to leave town."

With a tip of his head, Mark turns and walks down the street. Yes, maybe taking in Meredith will change my life—or maybe she'll ruin it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your lovely reviews. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When I return to my apartment, and slide into my bed, I'm restless. I've never fought with Mark before. Ever. We've never had anything to fight about before. Ever. And the thought that he's mad at me, for doing the right thing, makes me angry.<p>

I flip onto my left side and stare out the window facing the courtyard. The night's sky is an orange color from the illumination of the city. I can't see a single star or planet. I used to love to distract myself during a restless night by counting the stars. I never made it very high—only into the hundreds—but it used to calm me. I can't count stars in New York and counting sheep has never worked for me. I am left to stew in my own anger with no hope of distracting myself.

If I want to be honest with myself, I'd admit that Mark is right. But I've never seen Mark's point of view as correct before and I certainly don't want to start now.

With the clock poised on 11:23 P.M., and sleep at least three hundred miles away, I climb from my bed, gather a few of my more imposing textbooks from last semester and find my way into the living room. With my haste to find my bed before, I left the living room light on. I sink down onto the couch, open my advanced chemistry book, and begin to read chapters we didn't get a chance to study. Dr. Phelps, my chemistry professor, mentioned that while we didn't finish the book, we'd be expected to know everything for any later classes. I never actually thought I'd read the rest of the book, but now I have all the time in the world.

The hours slip by quickly. It's refreshing to know I learned most of this in high school, on an elementary level, but at least it's familiar. I read through the burning tired in my eyes and through the anger of my fight with Mark. I read through my father's disappointment and agreeing to allow a teenager to share my apartment and the uncertainty of it all. I read until I think I might actually explode. But I also learn. I re-learn the periodic table and I learn about chemical bonds and energy. I study the chemical laws and become well-versed in ions and salts and acidity and basicity.

By 3:41 A.M., I am sufficiently tired and ready to sleep.

Meredith's door opens. _Meredith's door_.

She steps into the light still dressed in my clothes. She looks shockingly small. For a minute, she simply stands there and stares at me while I stare at her. And then she notices the books in my lap and the pen in my hand. Suddenly, I don't feel so tired.

"You're up," she says and if it were anyone else, I would quip _obviously_.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep. What are you doing up?"

Meredith stands awkwardly by her door; she doesn't advance toward me or shy away. Her hair is a hot mess of curls from falling asleep when it was still wet, but she seems less sallow. Even six hours of sleep has done wonders on her demeanor. I only wish she'd sit. Even after hours of sleep, she still looks like death walking.

"I think I'm used to fitful sleep. I can't stay in bed any longer." She finally moves into the room and sits back in the arm chair she had habited before. "Have you slept at all?" I shake my head. "You're not freaking out because I'm here, are you?"

I recuperate briefly, "Oh, no, no. I've just had a really long day."

She motions to the books, "You said you're in school. When does your semester end?"

"It actually did, last week. I'm just getting ahead."

Meredith smiles and bites her bottom lip. It seems like she's trying to keep a bout of laughter in. I simply focus on her lip trapped between her teeth. "You're an overachiever type, aren't you?" I put down my pen, thinking of my role as a student. "You just finish the semester and only a few days later you have a book cracked open." She smiles wide, "Kind of nerdy, huh?"

I have _never_ been called nerdy. But with Meredith's amused smile and will to keep her laughter at bay, I find the comment kind of endearing. "I'm trying to distract myself from my bad day. It helps."

"Why was your day so bad?"

I consider my afternoon looking for her and my father showing up and my fight with Mark. The latter latter is by far the worst. But to unload any of my problems on Meredith would be too much. There's too much back story to consider and too much that I don't want to admit to.

But Meredith sits patiently and with her full attention on me. I shrug absent-mindedly and regard her, "I've been looking for you," I admit, not feeling at all embarrassed. Meredith's eyes widen, but she says nothing. I push my textbook aside, feeling energized but bored of studying. "It's a difficult position I'm in, obviously. I want to help people of all walks of life and the first chance I'm given, I make you leave. It made me…uncomfortable to know you were out there all on your own. So I looked for you everywhere. I was determined to help wherever I could."

"What if you can't help me?" she asks.

I glance toward the bathroom and Meredith's temporary room. I might not be able to save her from the reason she's running, but I can help her. And I have. "You have a roof over your head and food in your stomach. As far as I'm concerned, I am helping."

"But everything else… You can't save from that."

I shrug absent-mindedly. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Meredith smiles and looks down at her feet. Her hair tumbles down along her shoulders and skirts the tops of her bent knees. Her skin looks pinker than yesterday and the cuts she's sporting seem to be healing nicely.

"I did go to Washington Square Park when I left here last week." She peaks up at me. Her eyes are tired and full of experiences I can't understand. Outside cars honk and people shout, but inside the room is perfectly quiet save for our breath. "I thought you might follow me, so I pretended I was meeting a friend. I guess I kind of hoped you _would_ follow me. It's a big city, you know, and a familiar face is nice to have." She rests her chin on her knees. "The park was boring and full of weirdoes, so I left. I walked downtown. I wanted to see the World Trade Center site. But after that, there's was nothing more I wanted to do. It was dark and the city gets really strange at night. I was fine that first night—no one bothered me.

"The second day I went to Central Park. My feet are pretty tough, but they hurt so badly from all the walking the day before. I lay in the park for hours with my shoes off, just enjoying the sun. I fell asleep and when I woke up it was dark and cool." She shivers. "I didn't notice they were following me until I reached the lake. I only passed one other person and he had been so far back, I knew I was on my own. So I just kept walking. There were three of them—all in their 20s, I guess—and two of them were really big. They started cat-calling me when I began to run. And they chased me."

Meredith looks up and meets my eyes. I want to comfort her, but I'm not sure how the story ends yet and I don't know how to make it better. "I made it to Seventh Avenue and they stayed behind. But it was exactly like the night you saved me. I was stuck, alone, with no hope. But you weren't there to help and that's when I realized I wasn't going to make it out of here alive."

She pauses for a long, long moment. And then her eyes snap up to meet mine. "I won't stay long, I promise. I just need a week to recuperate. I need a week to figure everything out and then I'll go. You'll never have to see me again."

"Where will you go?"

Meredith seems taken aback. After everything she told me, I have nothing else to say. I don't know _what_ to say because everything I am thinking makes me hate New York and all the men in it. "South, I think. People there seem…" she shrugs, "…more welcoming, I guess."

I take a cleansing breath to keep from freaking out. I don't want to scare Meredith, especially when everything that _almost_ happened to her wasn't her fault. "You can stay here as long as you like. A week, a month, a year…it doesn't matter to me. I want you here."

"I won't be here that—"

"Even if you leave after three days, that's fine. But as long as you're in New York, you're free to stay here with me."

Meredith's gaze softens and for the first time since stepping through my door, she seems to relax. "Thank you, Derek, for everything. I never thought this city would be so difficult. If I had known, I would have bypassed it. I just hadn't been to the city since I was little, and I wanted to experience it without my parents."

_Parents. _

She presses her lips together. "Please don't ask me about them."

I want to. I really, really want to, but the panic in her eyes makes me stop. I nod. "Okay, I won't."

Meredith nods to the clock on my kitchen wall. "I should try and get more sleep." She stands and offers me a soft smile. "Thanks for listening."

"You can tell me anything, Meredith."

"See you in the morning," she waves and slides back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

I sit for a long time on the couch, but eventually trying to figure out Meredith exhausts me and I head to my room. My bed is welcoming and I'm thankful that my job doesn't start until noon, so at least I can get a few hours of sleep.

* * *

><p>I don't sleep late, but when I wake I hear movement in the apartment. It takes me a minute, but I remember Meredith is staying with me and is probably making breakfast or settling her things. It's odd to live alone for years and have someone staying in your apartment full-time—even if it is temporary. I'm used to girls taking showers and making breakfast after a tryst, but this feels very different. It feels like I'm being invaded. I push the thought aside and climb from bed, not bothering to straighten up. I throw on a pair of jeans from the day before and run my fingers through my hair. I have to shower.<p>

Meredith is in the kitchen wearing a clean pair of jeans and a white tee shirt. It seems kind of unusual that she'd wear something that could get so dirty, but white looks nice on her. The color compliments her light, freckled skin, and it makes her blond hair look much blonder. But with her short-sleeved shirt, I can see more evidence of abuse. She has bruises along her upper arms and I can see three distinct finger marks. My stomach turns over.

"How did you get those?" I ask.

Meredith startles and holds out two pieces of toast she'd been buttering. "I found the bread in the fridge. I figured you wouldn't mind." She sets the toast down and brushes the crumbs from her hands and onto the floor. "Shit. I'm sorry. Do you have a broom?"

I shake my head, still focused on her damaged upper arms. "No, not the bread. Your arms."

She glances down at her skin and immediately turns bright red. "Oh." She tugs on both sleeves, but it doesn't help. Meredith runs her fingers over the marks and shrugs. "It's nothing."

"When did it happen? Was it with that guy in the alleyway?"

I'm immediately thrust back into that night less than a week ago, when I heard Meredith scream for help. It seems like months ago that I rescued her. I can't shake the feeling of panic from the memory or the look in her eyes right before she vomited on the sidewalk before passing out. I shiver and try to think of something better, but her bruises are still glaring.

"Some of them," she nods.

I walk towards her like you would a frightened animal. I tentatively reach forward, meeting her eyes before I touch her skin. She doesn't shy away as I touch the offensive marks. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips. I stroke the biggest bruise—the one right over her bicep on her left arm and she winces a little. It's bright purple and very new. "This isn't from then."

She shakes her head. "It's feeling better though."

"Meredith," I admonish.

"Not everyone is so nice."

I sigh and close my eyes, dropping my hand from her skin. "I'm so sorry you've been through so much since you got here."

Meredith touches where my fingers had been. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine now."

My anger doesn't relent. I can feel it bubbling beneath my skin. To think that Kathleen, Nancy, Sophie, and Amelia walk these streets—where danger can be so apparent—makes my head spin. Maybe Meredith has just seen the bad luck of the draw, but I've never seen such blatant unrest in New York ever before. Or maybe it's because I'm a guy, and the abuse is never directed at me. Whatever the reason, I feel a world-of-better knowing that Meredith is safe.

I sigh and refocus my emotions.

"What time do you have work?" Meredith asks, effectively distracting me.

I smile and shake my head. It's like she knows me already. "Noon. I'll have to leave here by eleven-thirty."

I glance at the clock: 10:42.

"And I have to shower."

Meredith presents me with one of the pieces of toast. "I made breakfast."

I take the proffered breakfast. "Thanks." I take a bite. "What will you do all day?"

She shrugs and nibbles a small bite of crust. "I think I'll stay here all day, if you don't mind. I'm not really interested in being outside and exploring."

"Of course you can stay here. You don't need to ask. My cable isn't working right now, but I have a DVD player and a lot of movies. And there are books, if you wanted to read. I would give you my computer to pass the time, but I don't have the cord right now." Mark has it, which means I'll have to get in contact with him.

"I should be fine with books."

"Yeah? Okay, well, I have a bunch in my room, on the bookshelf. Take whatever you want."

She smiles, "Alright, I will."

"I should shower," I finish my toast and throw the napkin away. As I lean past Meredith, I catch a whiff of my soap on her skin. It's strange smelling it on her, but it seems fitting. "Do you need the bathroom?"

"No, I'm good. I think I'll wash some of my clothes, if that's okay."

"Meredith, you can use anything you want here. You don't need to ask."

She smiles shyly. "That's going to take a lot of getting used to."

"Well, you have as much time as you need to acclimate," I smirk. "I'll see you in a bit."

As I shower, my thoughts spill through my ears and become lost in the fog. I know I'm crazy. You'd have to be crazy to take on a teenage runaway and promise protection from the big, bad world, but maybe my insanity is what will help Meredith make it through this city and this stage in her life. And this is a stage. Her reasons for running must be valid, but eventually, her reasons won't be reasons anymore. One day, all this will pass and she will just be a woman, who has a dark past, but is at least alive to make it better. And if I can provide even a little security for her future, I'll do it.

But of course, thinking of Meredith's past makes me curious. What could be so bad as to make a teenage girl run from home? And how long has she been running? Even if someone isn't chasing her, are her parents looking for her? Are her friends? If I ran away, my parents, siblings, friends, and neighbors would probably be looking for me. Our neighborhood would be blanketed with missing signs and my parents would probably interview on the evening news. I can't help but think that any family would do the same for their missing child.

Of course, Meredith's reasons for running could stem from her parents inability to know their own daughter, or maybe even care for her. Or her parents could be dead and she's avoiding foster care. Or she could be a pampered brat who was anger about not getting the car she wanted for her birthday. Truth is, I don't know Meredith and I know nothing about her background. And until she's ready to tell me—or leaves town, whichever comes first—I'm in the dark.

* * *

><p>Dr. Weaver understands about my absences last week—probably because my father made a call. It doesn't bother me, because he accepts my apology and sets me to work. I'm thankful for my job and try not to complain, but it's hard to focus on anything when I can't be up-to-date on Meredith. She doesn't have a cell phone and I don't have a house phone. I know she's fine, probably curled up with a book right now, but it doesn't change the fact that I wish I didn't have to be working.<p>

Around three, I take a bathroom break and I quickly text Mark. _I need my computer charger_. He has every right to disagree with my choices, but it seems silly to cut me off completely. He texts me back almost immediately. _I'll drop it off after work. Are u still babysitting?_

_It's none of your business. _

_Dick_

I ignore Mark's last text and slide my phone away. I have two hours of work left and a stranger waiting for me in my house.

* * *

><p>Meredith sits up as soon as I enter the apartment and offers me a sheepish smile. "I was napping," she blushes.<p>

I shut the door behind me and pull off my waterlogged shoes. No one said it would rain today. "You've missed out on a lot of sleep I'd imagine. Napping is good for you." I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer and notice none are missing. At least I'm not dealing with an under-aged drinking fine on top of the other possible fines on my name. "How was your day?"

Meredith sets a battered book onto the coffee table face down. "Good. It was quiet. Except someone rang your doorbell around five. I didn't answer it."

"Good, don't. I think it was my friend Mark. He was returning my computer cord."

"Oh, sorry I didn't let him up. He didn't say anything, just rang the buzzer."

I take a long swig of my beer. "You shouldn't apologize. Even if Mark rings again and asks to come up—or anyone else: my parents, my sisters—just don't answer. They'll go away." I can only imagine how angry my sisters would be—especially Kathleen and Nancy—if they learned about Meredith.

"I'm guessing none of them know about me?"

I sit down in the chair across from her with a sigh. "I'm not _keeping_ you from them, but I haven't really talked to my family since I met you."

"Will you tell them?" her voice is small.

I can't tell if it's hurt or fear in her eyes. I decide to be honest. "No, I don't want to tell them." She looks away and fiddles with a bracelet I hadn't noticed before. It's small and thin, with two little charms dangling from her wrist. I can't tell what they are. "Do you want me to tell them?"

"No," she says quickly and forcefully. "Please don't."

I sigh with relief, "Good. We're on the same page, then. Are you hungry?"

"Starved," she nods, and I actually believe she might be starved and not just using a dramatic phrase.

"Want to go out for dinner? The rain's seemed to stop and I know a really good place to get a burger."

Meredith looks apprehensive, but then she nods and smiles. "I just need to get changed."

I pull my phone from my pocket and smirk at her. "Take your time."

Meredith slides from the couch and crosses the room. As she reaches her door, she turns slightly and meets my eyes. She smiles, ducks her head, and closes her bedroom door behind her. She's at ease in my apartment and it seems like her confidence is returning to her step.

We sit across each other at Ditch Plains, my favorite laidback fare in the area, and Meredith mulls over the menu. Her lips seem to be permanently attached to a straw leading into her glass of Coke, but her eyes dart left and right. I've already decided, but I like simply watching her decide. It's in these moments, when she's relaxed, that I notice how young she really is. I realize she's been through more than I could ever understand, and she's been beaten and broken by more than one person.

Meredith sets her menu down and drops the straw. She's already drank half her Coke. "I think I want the lobster roll. I haven't had lobster since…" she pauses and I don't know if it's because she doesn't actually remember or if she's trying to hide another secrets about herself. "At least three years," she finishes, which gives away nothing.

"The lobster roll is good. Just as good as anything you'd get in Maine."

"I was hoping so," she smiles at me.

Our waitress arrives and takes our orders, but then we're left alone once again. I realize I really have nothing to discuss with Meredith, because most everything is banned. I try anyway. "Would you tell me about your friends?"

She seems to consider this, but after a second, Meredith nods. "I have two best friends, Izzie and Cristina." She smiles. Her eyes hold something nostalgic and I wonder if she's imagining slumber parties, mall trips, and gossiping over lattes at Starbucks. But then I wonder if Meredith really is the type of girl to gossip, or enjoy a day at the mall, or slumber with her friends. "We've been friends since third grade. Cristina and I were neighbors when we were really little, but she moved across town. Izzie was in my classes and the three of us just clicked." She shrugs. "Cristina and Izzie bicker endlessly. I have to mediate all the time."

"Why do they fight?"

Meredith swirls her straw around her glass. "I don't know if they would be friends if it wasn't for me. They're really, really different and I guess I'm an even mix of both of them."

"How so?" I push her to say more, because with each detail, I feel like I might—one day—grow to know her.

"Well, Izzie is the cheerleader type, without being an actual cheerleader. She's blond and peppy and everyone loves her. She's fiercely loyal and driven. Her mom is kind of a letdown—spending her money on phone psychics and marrying a new man every two years—so she wants to become more. Cristina, on the other hand, has a lot in life. Her mom remarried after her dad died and they're really well-off. Cristina is very competitive. She plays women's rugby and gets the best grades. She's a great friend. She can be a bit mean to people she doesn't know and she's really sarcastic, but she's my rock."

I try to pull out details of both her friends that form the mix of Meredith. She's not a cheerleader type—peppy and excited—so I can only assume it's her loyalty and drive. As for Cristina's traits, I can't see Meredith being mean, but maybe she's competitive and well-off? Or maybe she's sarcastic.

What I do know of Meredith is that she's a reckless person. And recklessness on top of drive and competition might be a volatile mix.

"Do you think they're looking for you?"

Meredith looks away—out the window—and her eyes blink in slow succession. She wets her lips and blows a soft breath against the pane of glass. "No." She says simply, with complete conviction.

"How do you know?"

She glances at me. She's sad. "I asked them not to."

I lean forward in my bench and fold my arms across the table. "They know you were planning on running?"

For a moment, I think I've pushed too far—I've asked too much of her. But Meredith nods. "Yeah, I told them."

"Did they know you were planning on heading to New York?"

"No," she shakes her head and pushes a wayward curl from her eyes. "I didn't even know where I was going when I left. I just told them I was leaving and when I turned eighteen, I'd call them."

"When do you turn eighteen?"

Meredith smiles slightly, as if she's experiences her own joke. "In the early fall," she says, giving no further details. She has to protect herself, of course.

"What made you come to New York, then?"

"I was picked up along the way by a really nice older woman. She said she was headed to Long Island, but would make a stop in New York if that's where I wanted to go. It sounded like a better plan then any, so I said yes. She dropped me off at Times Square, gave me her phone number in case I ran into trouble, and left."

"You're lucky she wasn't a murderer," I joke, but there's a tone in my voice that is deeply sincere.

Meredith picks up on my tone. "I'm a good judge of character," she says defensively. "I knew a seventy-year-old grandma wasn't going to hack me up and throw me into a ditch."

"You don't know that."

"So, are you saying _you're_ going to hack me up? I decided to trust you, but maybe that was a mistake."

"Meredith, I wasn't talking about me."

"No, but if you make a blanketed statement like that, you have to consider your situation as well. You're a twenty-one-year-old male who has offered assistance to a female teen runaway and has asked nothing in return. You don't strike me as a Mother Theresa type, so I probably should assume you have an ulterior motive. The old lady, on the other hand, had a rosary hanging over her mirror and had a Virgin Mary pin on her shirt. She was much more credible than you are."

"It could have all been a ploy. Maybe she drives around wherever she picked up you, and plays the 'I'm a sweet old lady' card. She offers you food and tells you to nap, and before long, you're chained up in her basement waiting to die."

Meredith sits and stares at me for a minute. I see the corner of her mouth downturn and her eyes blaze with…anger, hurt, dismay? But after a second, her mouth turns up and she's smirking at me. I watch as her entire face brightens. What an odd reaction. "You're really twisted, you know that, right?"

I find myself smiling and nod, "I watch too many horror movies."

"And apparently I don't watch enough." She shakes her head and a wave of the scent of my shampoo brushes across my face. "I don't know why I trusted that old lady—or you for that matter. I guess I'm just hoping there still are good people out there."

I smile across the table. Meredith may be reckless, but she's also smart. And funny. And clever. "Maybe I'll give you a reason to learn to trust people."

A cool, slow smile falls upon her lips and she nods. "I'd like that."

* * *

><p>After dinner, we walk the long way along the Hudson and back down Christopher Street to my apartment. I point out the nearly completed World Trade Center One in the distance and the Statue of Liberty. I tell an antidote about my trip to Ellis Island at age seven—when I tried to jump into the churning water of the Hudson—and I point out the Jersey City skyline. We walk along the boardwalk near Pier 44 and loop down the jetty reaching its fingers to Hoboken. Meredith seems relaxed and is attentive to my every word and story. I'm trying to show her a less scary side of New York. I'm trying to make her not hate this place.<p>

Just as we reach Hudson and Christopher, my phone rings. My dad. I smile apologetically to Meredith and take the call. "Hey dad."

"_Derek, how are you? How was your day?"_

In dad-code, that means: did you actually go to work today?

"My day was good, dad. Dr. Weaver seemed happy to see me return."

Meredith glances at me, but then focuses on her feet again.

"_Good, good. I'm glad you were able to make it to work!"_

In dad-code: I'm glad my son isn't a total screw up.

"So, what's up? I just saw you." In son-code: I have a life, let me live it. And stop bothering me.

"_Your mother and I are coming into the city on Friday for an event at the Lincoln Center. It doesn't start until eight, and she thought it'd be a good idea to meet up with you and grab some dinner. What do you say?"_

I glance at Meredith, still totally focused on her feet—probably trying to give me some semblance of privacy, but all I can think of are the hours I'll be leaving her alone in the apartment. It seems unfair to her. Plus, my apartment has the tell-tale signs of another person staying there, and with my mom's inquisitive nature and ability to seek out the truth, I'd never make it out alive. "Yeah, Dad, I don't know. I have plans."

"_With Mark? Derek, your mother doesn't visit a lot. It would be nice if you could make yourself available."_

"No, not with Mark."

"_Do you have a date?"_

To me, his voice is amplified and I really hope Meredith can't hear him. She looks down the street, but I can see the hint of a smile in her green-grey eyes. "No Dad. But I can't make it Friday. How about next week?" Maybe Meredith will be gone by then and I won't have to pretend any longer.

"_I'll talk to your mother. Try to change your plans Derek. We'd like to see you."_

"Yeah, I'll work on it. Look, I gotta go."

"_You've been on the phone for two seconds."_

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'll call you tomorrow. Bye." I hang up before he can say another word. "Sorry," I stash my phone in my pocket, now on silence.

Meredith smiles, "It's fine. It sounds like you have a really good relationship with your parents."

I've always considered my parent sort of overbearing, but maybe that's why all the Shepherd children are succeeding so admirably. Our parents push us to be better; to have more than they did; to become more. And maybe their kind of overbearing is warranted if the end result is a success. And maybe that's what makes them good parents. I nod, realizing my parents are doing exactly what they should be. "Yeah, I do."

"That must be really nice." Her voice is positive, but I can hear an undertone of regret and jealousy.

"Meredith," I begin, but she shakes her head and glances at me.

"Please don't," she asks. "It's fine. Everything's fine."

I stop and regard her. She's wrapped her arms around herself like she's cold or trying to protect herself from someone or something. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are downturned. "Did your parents hurt you?"

Meredith glances up at me and I can see a thousand unshed tears behind her eyes. "No," she says clearly. "No one hurt me."

But I don't know if I believe her.

"Can we just go home?" she asks and we both startle at her casual use of 'home.'

I don't say anything, though, and I nod in agreement. Meredith starts out before me, walking faster than before, and I'm left in the dust of uncertainty about her past, about her parents, and about my feelings for her calling my apartment home.


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't know how to thank you all for your lovely reviews! You're all much too kind.**

**A sidebar, which has nothing to do at all with this fic, but is something worth sharing, is this great quote from Meet Joe Black (which I watched during my 90s movie marathon this weekend! - Cruel Intentions, Twister, and The Sixth Sense were also included!):  
><strong>

**"Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. I say, fall head over heels. Find someone you can love like crazy and who will love you the same way back. How do you find him? Well, you forget your head, and you listen to your heart. And I'm not hearing any heart. Cause the truth is, honey, there's no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love, well, you haven't lived a life at all. But you have to try, cause if you haven't tried, you haven't lived."**

**If only I'd written something so brilliant. Onto the next chapter...  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"I feel bad leaving you alone tonight," I call from the kitchen.<p>

Meredith walks into my field of vision and leans against the doorway. She crosses her arms over her new purple top. It was a battle—to say the least—to get her to agree to new clothes, but if she's planning on leaving in the next few days, she'll need more than three shirts and two pants. After at least an hour of complaining, she agreed to five new shirts, two more jeans, a pair of shorts, and new sneakers. I didn't explain to Meredith that money really has no meaning to me, but I'm sure she can tell by now.

"I really don't mind," she says with a shrug.

I set my now clean dinner plate on a towel next to the sink. "I still don't like it thought."

Meredith crosses the room and pulls another fresh towel from the drawer next to the sink. She begins to dry the dishes. "You've had these plans since before I barged into your life. You have to go."

"Yeah, but I'd rather stay in and hang with you." I knock my shoulder playfully against hers.

Which is completely true. The last six days with Meredith has been really enjoyable. At first, it was weird having a near stranger sharing my space, but since our dinner on Monday, things have settled down nicely. I've gotten to know Meredith—the person she is—without the burden of her past. I'm still deeply curious, but it doesn't drive me crazy. It's actually kind of rewarding getting to know someone for who they are instead of where they come from, or who their parents are.

But of course, I'll probably never learn much more about Meredith, because she's determined to leave by Wednesday; just five days from now.

Which makes me want to just stay home with her tonight and enjoy her company before she leaves. Except it's my friend Owen's twenty-first birthday tonight and I promised I would be there.

Meredith whips my arm playfully with the towel and continues to dry the dishes and put them away. "We'll hang tomorrow, unless you have a whopper of a headache. Then I'll just come into your room at seven in the morning and bang pots and pans to wake you up." She smirks wickedly.

"But what if I have a hot brunette in my bed? Would you wake her up as well?"

"First of all," she says walking behind me to put away a drinking glass, "you wish." I glare at her. "And second of all," she walks the other way, "she deserves to be woken up. I'm sure you're one of those 'fuck 'em and duck 'em' types. I'd be doing you a favor."

I can't help but laugh. "I guess the best way around this is not to drink too much tonight so we can do something tomorrow." And that's exactly what I'm planning to do. In fact, I'm not planning to drink at all.

"You're a wild twenty-one year old, though. Isn't the point to just be drunk all the time?"

I turn off the tap after the last dish and shake out my hands. "It's actually the opposite. The second I turned twenty-one, or maybe the day after, I didn't really care about getting wasted anymore. I think the appeal disappeared because what I was doing was no longer illegal."

"So you're saying, I'll have more fun as a seventeen year old alcoholic, rather than a twenty-one year old?" Her eyes glimmer with glee.

I nod, "Yes, except you're not allowed to drink."

Meredith sets the dishtowel down on the edge of the sink and rests her palm on her hip. "That sounds like a double-standard to me. Shouldn't I be as rightfully allowed to underage drink as any other?"

I mirror her stance, minus the hand on my hip—I cross my arms. "Maybe, but not here." I haven't put my foot down about anything with Meredith. When she wanted to go exploring at night by herself, I let her go. When she headed off to the Bronx alone one afternoon, I said nothing. But to think of her drunk and lost among the city streets, with no one protecting her… That's pushing me too far.

Instead of resistance, I'm met with a grin. "Believe me, I've learned that alcohol does nothing good for anyone."

"Personal experience?"

Meredith nods, "Something like that." She looks away. Her demeanor is familiar; she always shuts down when something from her past crops up. However, instead of egging her on, I've learned to step back.

"I'm still sorry you can't come. If only it were dinner, or something, not at a bar, I'd bring you."

"Really, its fine, Derek." She smiles, effectively cutting my apology short. "I have a whole evening of catching up on news stories I've been missing and stalking my friends on Facebook."

It took Mark almost a week to return my computer charger, which he managed to do just this morning. I still have no idea who called up to be let in on Monday, but I don't worry about it. I get at least three weird calls a month and each one is usually someone looking for the doctor's office around the corner.

I ignore the passing thought to look Meredith up on Facebook—because I've decided until she tells me, I won't go searching—and instead offer her a reassuring smile. "I'll be home early. We'll have a movie marathon then."

"Bourne Identity?" she asks.

I nod, "And Good Will Hunting. We'll have a Matt Damon night."

"Okay then. Now, go get ready, or you'll be late!" she drags the dishtowel from the counter and snaps it in my direction. I jump out of the way just in time and throw a middle finger over my shoulder. "Real mature Derek."

I laugh all the way to my bedroom.

* * *

><p>I leave Meredith lying happily on the couch with Die Hard playing in the background, my computer perched on her stomach, and a bowl of popcorn just in reach. It seems crazy that after only one week staying with me, I'll be sad to see her go.<p>

I step onto my stoop, bypassing the mail piling up in my box, and stop immediately.

"Oh fuck."

"Good to see you too," Mark say and stands up from his seat.

"Why are you here?"

Mark brushes off his pants and faces me. "It's Owen's birthday, which I figured, whether you still have a stowaway or not, you'd still be going. And," he holds his arms out, "I was right."

"I really don't want to see you right now."

"Do you still have a stowaway?"

I walk past him and down the street towards the 1 train. Mark chases after me and matches my strides. "Come on. I think you need to talk to someone about this. I'm guessing I'm the only one that knows and it has to be kind of fucked up—having some girl staying with you, dependent on you. I mean, its weird man."

"Thank you for that uneducated summary of my situation, Mark. But I honestly don't want to talk _you_ about anything, especially my situation with Meredith."

"So that's still going on then?" We reach the subway; where I ignore him, walk past the turn style and down the platform. He follows, of course. "Are you sleeping together?"

"Jesus, Mark! She's seventeen!"

"So? It's not like she pre-pubescent or anything. Plus, if I remember correctly, she's hot."

The train approaches, and instead of throwing Mark onto the track, I meet his eyes carefully. "Look, I don't want to discuss any of this with you. You've made your thoughts on my situation very clear and I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm an adult. And Meredith is not," I clarify. "You have no idea what she's been through and if she needs somewhere to stay for a few days, and I have unlimited resources, why wouldn't I help her?"

"But it's been more than a few days," he reminds me, as if that would change my decision.

I step onto the train and slide down to an available seat. Mark stands in front of me, clutching the central pole. "She's leaving on Wednesday," I admit.

"Where's she going?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me."

I can't imagine letting Meredith go out on her own in five days. Even if she does head south, there are bad people all along the way, and her safety is never guaranteed. I can only imagine if Amelia ran away, or if Sophia had left when she was younger, and the fear that would surround their sudden disappearances. Who would be looking for them besides the family? Would authorities be scouring the metropolitan area? Meredith's family must be wondering where she is. And her friends, even if they knew about her departure, must think about her constantly.

I don't want to be another person in Meredith's life wondering where she is and hoping she's not dead in the woods. Or worse, tied up in someone's basement. But I can't make her stay.

Mark sits down next to me and sighs. "It's a shitty situation, isn't it?"

I laugh, humorlessly, and nod. "Probably the shittiest."

"You can't save everyone man."

I can already feel the evening turning sour, so instead of focusing on Meredith's departure, I force a smile on my face and punch Mark in the middle of his thigh. "What the fu—"

"So, tell me about your recent conquests," I joke.

Mark rubs his thigh and glares at me, but after a minute, he begins a long tirade of girls, girls, and more girls. It's just that simple, and we're friends again

* * *

><p>Owen chose 46 Lounge for his birthday, which isn't really his speed. His girlfriend, a pampered princess from Montauk, wanted something "special" for his birthday. I'm sure Owen would have bellied up to some seedy bar before stepping foot into a lounge, but he wanted to make his girlfriend happy. Mark complained the entire subway ride; however, as soon as we pass the doors, he noticed the amount of girls milling around—most of them dressed to the nines in short cocktail dresses and heels—and it no longer mattered that a single beer costs ten dollars and a tequila shot costs twenty.<p>

We're escorted to the VIP section by a hostess and Owen already looks wrecked. He's slumped against his girlfriend—whose name I can never remember—as she sips a glass of champagne and laughs loudly with a brunette next to her. "Dibs," Mark whispers to me.

I nod, because I'm not going home with anyone anyway.

"Derek! Mark!" Owen calls, now looking semi-conscious. He smiles wide and goofy and pats the empty spot next to him. I go that way and Mark goes left, to sit next to the brunette. Owen throws his arm around my shoulder, "I'm so happy you're here!"

"Hey man, happy birthday." I try to pull a few inches away from him, so I can't smell the rancid alcohol on his breath, but his grip is tight.

"It is, isn't it? The happiest," he slams back his beer.

His girlfriend looks my way and smiles. "He started at noon," she says as an explanation.

I nod. I started the same way for my twenty-first. Still, to this day, I wonder how I made it out alive.

A waitress arrives at our table, along with two more guys and three more girls. Owen perks up and shouts out their names as well. Everyone looks more or less uncomfortable to even be in his vicinity. "Can I get you a drink?" she asks Mark, and leans closer to him. He checks out her rack—typical—and smirks. He orders a double-scotch, single malt for both of us.

"No, Mark, I'm not drinking."

"Fuck you," Owen yells at me, and everyone in our section stares. "It's my birthday," he says to me and then repeats it to the waitress. "And he'll have two."

"Owen, look—"

Owen waves his hand to dismiss me and nods very seriously to the waitress. She takes the rest of the orders and I decide one drink won't kill me.

One drink transforms to two, and two to three, and three to six, and before I even realize it, it's nearing midnight and I am well on my way to being drunk. Owen is just nearly passed out, and Mark disappeared almost an hour ago with the brunette, who introduced herself as Nicole. I take a sip of my seventh scotch, and I know I should go home to Meredith, but I'm too drunk to show my face. I'm hoping to get home after she's already asleep and I can just avoid the whole embarrassing situation.

Someone sits down next to me and I turn and meet a gorgeous pair of blue eyes. The girl beside me is very blond and sun-kissed tan. Her lashes are thick and her lips are a perfect shade of pink. She's at least twenty-five.

I should leave now.

But it's been so long. Almost two weeks.

"Hi, I'm Sara."

She extends her hand. _Don't shake her hand. Don't do it._ I take her warm, soft hand into mine. "Derek."

"Your friend looks like he should be heading home."

I glance at Owen and he's completely slumped back on the couch. His girlfriend dabs his forehead with a wet napkin and whispers into his ear. His lips twitch to a sloppy smile. "It's his twenty-first," I explain over the music.

She smiles and I see two rows of perfectly white teeth. "So Derek, what do you do?"

Normally I would make up some ridiculous lie—I'm a lawyer; a scuba instructor; a professional baseball player—but I don't want to lie. I don't feel like putting so much effort in. "I'm a student. I'm studying to become a doctor."

She perks up. "What kind of doctor?"

"A surgeon."

A slow smile spreads across her lips. "Is your girlfriend going to be a surgeon, too?"

I shake my head—both in confirmation that I don't have a girlfriend and in disbelief that she pulled the 'casually—but not so casually—ask about your girlfriend' card. "No girlfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Recently single," she confirms. "Do you live around here?"

And this is the moment. I've played this game dozens of times: first, you casually ask names, professions, ages, pet names; and then you move onto significant others; and finally you question location. She's opening the door for the evening. She wants to come home with me. Only, I have a seventeen-year-old waiting to have a Matt Damon marathon with me and I can't come home with a girl. Plus, I still can't show my face to Meredith—not like this.

I shake my head. And I lie, "All the way uptown. Almost Harlem."

I see her withdraw. She may walk away now or she'll invite me over. I want to go. I want to release some tension, but so help me God, if she lives in Queens, Brooklyn, Long Island, or worse, New Jersey, I'm bolting.

"I live a few blocks away. Do you want to come over?"

Success. I look for Mark, even though I know he's long gone, but I know he would be proud of how quickly I sealed the deal. I give myself two seconds to consider the consequences, but I don't need that much time. I nod and stand up, offering her my hand. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Sara leads me past the Twin Tower Memorial and around the corner to a modern building covered in glass. She waves at the doorman and passes through the open elevator doors. Her building is the nicest I've ever been in in New York. The floors are titled in black marble and the walls are paneled with hand-painted murals. The ceiling boasts three chandeliers and the walls support gold sconces. Either Sara lives with her very rich parents, or her very rich parents have bought her a very expensive apartment.<p>

She leans back against the elevator wall and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. I'm supposed to do that. Sara grins at me and I feel her hand slide into my back pocket. We travel twenty-seven floors to a private entrance to her apartment. She unlocks the door and I follow her in.

"It's my parents' place," she explains. "They're in Florence until September."

I run my finger along a speckled marble end table in the foyer and glance up at the sixteen foot ceilings. "Fancy. And what do your parents do to have such a nice place?"

Sara turns on lights as she walks through the apartment. "My dad works on Wall Street."

"Figures." I admire the view of Battery Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, Ellis Island, and the Statue of Liberty on three sides. Sara comes to stand next to me with two tumblers. "Thanks."

"It's bourbon. We didn't have any scotch."

I tap my glass to hers. "Cheers."

It's ridiculous standing here, looking out on some of the best features of New York, with a rich girl I know nothing about. It's ridiculous that I plan to not drink, but do so anyway. It's ridiculous that while I'm standing here, with arguably the world's hottest girl, all I can think about is Meredith—at home, waiting for me. The alcohol burns my throat as it slides down and my fuzzy head just grows fuzzier.

Sara leans into me, her glass pinned between us, and kisses me. It's soft, with just a little bit of pressure. It's the perfect first kiss—full of wonder and mystery. It's full of promises. And yet, it feels all wrong. I pull away and finish off my bourbon, keeping my eyes on Sara, and I can feel my body becoming light from alcohol. I can barely stand, really, and my eyes feel heavy, but I'm focused on her. Sara follows suit and we both set out empty tumblers onto a side table. Her body collides with mine; her lips demanding on mine and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I kiss her deeply, opening her mouth with my tongue and running hand hands along her bottom to the edge of her dress.

I pull her dress up, feeling the bare skin of her ass on my fingertips and walk her backwards until she's pinned to the glass windows. It should feel good, but it doesn't. I should want to continue, but I don't. I pull away. She's breathless and wanton. She begins to peel her dress the rest of the way off. I step away and shake my head. My erection presses painfully against my pants. "I have to go."

Sara's hands drop. Her dress is inches above her navel, but I stay focused on her eyes. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm sorry."

She tugs her dress back down and kicks off her heels. She's significantly shorter than I assumed. "Get the fuck out," she points to the door and heads in the opposite direction. "Limp asshole," she says under her breath, disappearing behind a wall.

I tug my fingers through my hair and exit the apartment.

It feels good to be leaving.

* * *

><p>The apartment is quiet as I sneak through the front door. I feel a little like I'm sixteen again and trying to avoid my parents. But instead of my parents, I'm trying to avoid Meredith. I'm obviously drunk and I skipped out on our plans. I don't know what I'll say to her tomorrow, but at least I can sleep this off and forget that I disappointed two people tonight—three, if I count myself. I lie down in my clothes, barely able to pull off my shoes, and I fold my arm up under the pillow. I'll make this all up to Meredith, tomorrow.<p>

I don't know how long I sleep, but I wake to the feeling of cool, wetness on my forehead. I feel my headache first and every nerve in my body feels raw. My mouth tastes horrible and I think I can smell stench coming from my armpits. It makes me want to gag. The wetness moves over my cheeks and then to my neck. I open my eyes and Meredith sits on the bed next to me, looking determined. She says nothing when my eyes meet hers; she just continues to wipe my face with a wash cloth. I feel a little better with the cool cloth on my skin, but the rest of my body feels like razors.

Meredith drops the cloth into a cereal bowl and presents me with a glass of water and two white pills. "For your headache," she offers me a slight smile. I take both without complaint and hold my head up to take the medicine. Meredith takes the glass from me and sets it back on the side table. "How are you feeling?"

I force myself to sit up, despite the spinning room and throbbing ache in my head. Meredith takes my arm and helps me. I'm mortified. "Like shit," I grumble and run my hand through my hair.

Meredith nods and folds another blanket across my legs. She's the perfect nurse. I take her hand as she turns, probably to retrieve something else. She looks at my hand in hers and then at me. "I'm sorry."

She smiles, but it barely touches her concerned eyes. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I promised to be home."

Meredith squeezes my palm and slowly pulls her hand from mine. She buries both her palms into her jean pockets. "You don't owe me anything. I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything Meredith. Besides, I'm not talking about any of that. I'm talking about letting my friend down." My head hurts. My focus is waning.

She offers me a slightly brighter smile. "You didn't let me down, Derek." She brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes and nods towards the door. "I know you probably feel really sick, but I'm going to get you some saltines and a ginger ale."

I lean back against the pillows. "A ginger ale sounds so good right now."

"I'll run to CVS and be back in a minute."

"There's money in my wallet."

She holds up my black bill-fold. "I know." She flashes me a cheeky grin.

I laugh and close my eyes. "Meredith the Runaway: teenager by day, sneaky thief by night."

She laughs and the sound calms my nerves for just a second. "I'm not considered a sneaky thief when my victim is practically comatose. I'll be right back," she says and I hear the apartment door open and close behind her.

When Meredith does return, she climbs up onto the other side of my bed and drops the contents of her plastic bag onto the bed spread. I think I slept for five minutes while she was gone, but I feel slightly better. Meredith hands me a ginger ale and then sets her own between her folded legs. She also sets a sleeve of saltines on my thigh and an apple next to that. "You need fiber," she says simply. She peels back the wrapper of a Snickers bar and bites down. "Jesus," she sighs around the chocolate, caramel, and peanut confection.

"Why do I need fiber and you need chocolate?"

"_I_ have no body fat and _you _have been out all night drinking God knows what."

"Scotch," I say, as if it's a bad word, "and a little bourbon."

Meredith laughs and sorts through the rest of the snacks. She bought a bag of Cheetos and another of Doritos—Cool Ranch flavored; she has a pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and a sleeve of Rolos. She has two packets of gum and another of honey twist pretzels. She also bought a gossip magazine. "This is what happens when you allow a teenager to buy the groceries."

"These," Meredith waves her hands over the pile, "are not groceries. This is hangover food."

"Yeah?" I take a saltine from the package. "And what do you know about hangover food?"

Something shifts in the air and I know I've asked something Meredith doesn't want to answer. She stares down at her lap and rolls the half-eaten candy bar between her fingers. I sigh; ready to apologize, when she cuts me off, "Did you drink a lot in high school?"

High school was a big transition; halfway through my eight grade year, my father received a huge check from IKEA and we all moved to Connecticut. Not only did my school change, but my way of life. Suddenly I was in private school with hundreds of other privileged girls and boys, where the teachers didn't care what you did behind closed doors, as long as your grades remained above average. I drank for the first time at fourteen and got drunk three days later. Most weekends were spent drinking in excess and rounding the bases with our female counterparts.

"Yeah, I drank enough. Why?"

"I got caught drinking for the first time when I was twelve," Meredith says quietly to her lap. My mouth pops open, but I don't say anything. She glances up at me. "My mom caught Izzie and me drinking dry vermouth in the garage," she smiles at the memory. "We had no idea what vermouth was, but it was the dustiest bottle and we figured it wouldn't be missed. I got drunk of vermouth," she laughs and shakes her head. "It's ironic."

I watch her face fall slightly. "What's ironic?"

Her eyes focus on me, as if she's noticing me for the first time. "Nothing. Just life."

"So was vermouth your gateway drunk to harder liquors?"

"In a sense, yes."

She licks her lips and tugs the wrapper back up over the candy bar. "Is that why you ran?"

"I'm not an alcoholic," she addresses my concern without me even having to ask. "I haven't drunk in months and even before then, it was nothing more than what any other teen was doing." She pulls her knees to her chest. "And no, it's not why I ran."

"Will you tell me, someday, why you ran?"

Meredith shrugs, "I'm leaving Wednesday. Why does it matter?"

"I'm a curious person by nature."

"Maybe," she muses, staring out my window. "How was your night, you know, before the awful hangover?" she asks, changing the subject.

Just because the subject is changed doesn't mean I'm not curious. I hold my tongue, though. "It was fine. Nothing too exciting." And then I remember Sara, who I left hot, bothered, and ready in her parents' amazing downtown apartment.

"Did you meet anyone?"

I regard her. Meredith is relaxed, but I can see worry in her forehead. I lie. "No. It was pretty boring, actually."

"You should have stayed home, then?" she fishes.

I laugh and reach for the Reese's. "Maybe." Meredith tugs the package from my hand and lays it in her lap with the Snickers. "Hey!"

"Buy your own Reese's."

"Those _are_ mine! You used my money."

Meredith slides off the bed, her candy in-hand. "I'm a thief, remember?" she flashes me a grin and tosses my wallet back onto the bed. "Buy your own candy. Are you ready for our Matt Damon marathon, yet?"

I glance at the clock—9:23—and groan. It'll take hours from my hangover to go away. But a movie with Meredith, and obscene amounts of junk food might help. I grab the remaining goodies in the pile and follow Meredith to the living room. She waits patiently for me as I slide down onto the couch. We both rest our heels on the coffee table and she tosses a light blanket over our legs. I turn and smile at Meredith, only to find her already grinning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews! And thank you to those who don't review, but continue to read! I apologize for the delay; I've been geeking it out at Book Expo America for the last three days. Three days, hundreds of publishers, and thousands of giveaways can make a book lovers' heart weak! **

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>We step off the subway at 59th Street and cross Columbus Circle to the southwestern entrance to Central Park. Meredith eyes my backpack suspiciously, again, but says nothing. I smile, despite myself. I like surprising people. I especially like surprising Meredith, because it's making her mad. And when she's mad, she gets the cutest little wrinkle in her forehead just above her eyebrows. Plus, I think the fact that I'm smiling through her anger is making her even more irritable. It takes all my strength to not laugh in her face. Instead, I walk quietly, guiding her through the leafy shadows of Central Park.<p>

I can't help but think about Meredith's last time in the park—the night before she before she showed up on my doorstep; the night she was chased through the park by three men. It makes my stomach turn thinking of it, but I'm reassured to see her happy (well, not at the moment) and healthy next to me. Plus, I brought her to the park for a reason.

When I glance at Meredith again, she seems agitated, but her gaze shows worry. The park is not a happy place for her. "Hey," I nudge her with my shoulder. Meredith looks up at me. Her gaze softens, but her body remains ridged. I throw my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her reassuringly. "It's okay. It's daytime; there are a million people around; and I'm here. Nothing's going to happen."

She sighs and nods, but I can still feel the tension in her shoulders. I decide to walk with my arm around her, continually reassuring her that she's safe, and lead her past the baseball fields and to a little hill opposite the carousel.

I can feel Meredith's eyes on me as I set my backpack down beneath the shade of an oak tree. She waits patiently, very near where I'm crouching and digging through my backpack. I pull out the checkered blanket first and lay it down on a particularly soft looking patch of grass. I smile up at Meredith as she takes in the blanket, the carousel, and the park. I motion for her to sit down. "We can't have a picnic if you stand like that the whole time."

"We're having a picnic?" she asks softly while taking her spot on the edge of the blanket, overlooking the carousel.

I kneel beside her and dig through my backpack. Mark did me a favor and called in a picnic lunch from Bouchon Bakery in Rockefeller Center. He picked it up and dropped it off an hour before our departure time. I pull out the brown bag with the food and the smaller one with the drinks. I keep dessert tucked away, having other plans for that. "I know the park isn't your favorite place, which is understandable, but I don't want you to look back on New York with bad memories." I meet Meredith's gaze. "You've seen the worst New York has to offer, but there are a lot of really great places here and one of my favorites is this spot, overlooking the carousel.

"When I was five, my dad brought me here for the day. We went to the zoo, we ate lunch by the lake, and we came here. That was the day he told me I was going to be a big brother." I smile, remembering the way my dad held my hand the entire day and how he listened to every single one of my questions. I thought my dad was the smartest man in the world. "I don't want you to tell your friends years from now about how scary New York is. I want you to tell them about the great places you've been and the cool things you got to experience."

When Meredith says nothing in return, I shrug and begin to uncover the piles of food I bought. There are three different sandwiches, a tin of caramel popcorn, a fruit salad, and a garden salad. But before I can unpack everything, Meredith's hand folds over mine, causing me to look up. She smiles at me and it's an honest-to-god heartbreakingly beautiful smile. Her entire face lights up in a way I've never seen before and her eyes sparkle at me. Her fingers squeeze my hand and I feel my voice hitch in my throat. "Thank you, Derek, for this. For everything. I don't know…" she removes her hand and shakes her head.

_I don't know how to thank you.  
>I don't know how to leave you.<br>I don't know…_

I smile and nod, "You're welcome. I'm happy to give you a few good memories of New York."

"You've given me more than a few, Derek." The shine in her eyes turns to something else…something I can't pinpoint, but I may be too afraid to try.

I shake the feeling of confusion away and nod to the food. "Sit. Let's eat!"

Meredith folds her legs underneath herself and eyes the provisions on display. "Have whatever you want. I chose tuna, ham and swiss, and a pecan chicken salad. I didn't know what you'd like, and I like them all."

She reaches for the ham and swiss with a smile and pulls her food onto her lap. I've noticed, during my brief week-and-a-half with her, that Meredith hoards her food. It makes sense, of course, but her ability to slyly tuck food away is kind of astonishing.

I first noticed her hoarding food when she wouldn't finish all her dinner, but when I cleaned off her plate to do the dishes, it was empty. And one day last week, after I came home from work, Meredith was tucking something beneath her when I walked through the door. Her cheeks were bright red then, but I didn't bring it up. And then, the clincher, was when I found extra food she had bought at CVS and tucked away among her things. I wasn't snooping, per se, but I just wanted to make sure she had a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, so I bought them to stow with her things. I don't call her out on her behavior, mainly because I have to try and understand how hard it is for her to survive without the comfort of knowing food is attainable at any moment.

This is one of the reasons why I wish she'd stay, but I don't know how to ask her to.

Near our little picnic spot is a blond family—two little boys and an older girl—running around in circles around their parents. I watch as one boy trips, only to be helped by the other, and both are kept safe by the older sister. I'm reminded of my sisters, always my protectors, and what they'd think of Meredith. I think they'd like her. Amelia would love her, but Amy's always been my own personal cheerleader.

I don't think Meredith has siblings. She doesn't seem like the sibling type. I don't know how to explain it, but sometimes I just have a feeling about Meredith's life and then certain things make more sense. For instance, I think her father has a powerful career. She's quiet about her dad—she's quiet about everything, obviously, but she's never mentioned him outright. She's spoken of her mom, but never once her dad. There's something going on with her father she's keeping as secret as possible.

"You're quiet," Meredith interrupts my musing.

She's already eaten half her sandwich and I have yet to choose one. I pick the chicken salad.

"I'm just thinking."

Meredith plucks a green grape from the fruit salad and places it between her lips. "What about?" she asks after she bites through.

"You, actually."

"Yeah," she smiles, clearly amused. "What about me?"

"We're friends, right?"

Meredith nods, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. "Yeah, of course, why?"

"And you trust me?"

Her brows knit together, but she nods anyway, "Yes, I trust you."

"Would you tell me something, anything, about yourself?" Meredith's gaze hardens with fear; I've seen the same look in her eyes more than a dozen times. "You're leaving in two days and I'm not going to call the cops on you. I don't need to know everything. Just give me something. The suspense…" I shake my head. "I just feel like after these last two weeks, you'd give me something."

Meredith says nothing. She gazes across the park with her food resting carefully in her lap.

I bite my tongue, feeling incredibly stupid. She's told me, time and time again, that she can't give me anything beyond what I already know. But it's _painful_ not knowing. I compromise and ask her a question instead, "Are you an only child?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter," I sigh. "None of it _matters_, but you're a stranger to me and I'd like to know more about you."

"Derek…"

"What are you so afraid of?" I interrupt. "What do you really think will happen if you tell me you have a little brother? Do you think I'll call the police because I find out your mom's a librarian? Nothing I want to know is important." I swat a fly away from my sandwich angrily, trying not to yell at her and ruin our perfectly good day. "Don't you think I could have figured out who you are by now? I could look you up online easily and find your face staring back at me with disappearance stats. But I value your privacy enough not to do that. I just want to know you. When I tell my kids one day about the mysterious runaway I boarded for two weeks when I was in college, I want to give them more facts than she was beautiful."

Meredith eyes gaze up at me as I lose my cool. I feel my face grow red and I look away from her. I've allowed myself to go too far, like always. She's going to think I'm insane for my attack. Plus, why did I have to call her beautiful? Now, on top of everything else, she'll think I'm coming onto her. "Look, I'm sorry. Don't mind me. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"I'm an only child," she confirms. "I think my dad wanted to have more children, but my mom's career got in the way. I didn't really mind it. My dad and I spent a lot of time together when I was little and everything I learned came from him." She smiles sadly. "When I was really little, he used to take me to our timeshare in the mountains. We'd lie out for hours and stare up at the stars. I'd pick constellations like 'The Giant Pineapple' and 'The Lonely Frisbee' and my dad would point out Orion's Belt and Cassiopeia. He would explain animal track marks in the mud and pull leaves from trees that I could press into novels to preserve forever."

I watch her mouth move as she unravels bits of herself. A ghost of a smile plays across her lips the entire time. As she breathes, her lips part and her eyes close briefly, as if she's trying—but not trying too hard—to keep the memories at bay. I'm too curious to stop her and wonder if the past is too painful to talk about, so I allow her to continue on. She meets my eyes.

"I ran away in March. I headed right for New York, but was deterred along the way. I've met some really nice people. Other runaways like me and some strays, but I've tried to stay away from settled people." She smiles at me. "They can be dangerous."

"And runaways aren't," I challenge.

Meredith shakes her head, "Not as far as I've seen. I'm sure there are dangerous people, but everyone I met was incredibly helpful and willing to give whatever they can. I think it's because we're all in the same boat. We're all just trying to get by."

"Did they all have valid reasons for running?"

"Any reason is valid as long as it's yours. I might not have run for the reasons they did, but the same could be said for them running for my reasons."

"Why did you run?"

Meredith closes off again; I can see it in her eyes. "I'm not ready to talk about that."

I can't stop myself. "Did someone hurt you?"

Meredith licks her lips and turns to gaze at the warm sun through the trees. "Aren't we all hurt at some point?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, actually, I don't." She refocuses on me. "There are a lot of different kinds of hurt, Derek. Do you mean sexual abuse?" I cringe at the sound of her voice—the anger, the pain. I'm ruining our day without even trying. "Do you mean physical? Mental? Maybe all three?"

"Meredith, I—"

"I'm not telling you my reasons for running. I'll talk about my pet dog and my favorite color and all that bullshit, but I'm not telling you _that_. It's personal, as personal as asking someone's weight or the status of someone's virginity. My reasons for running are all my own, okay?"

I nod, "Okay. I won't ask." Meredith seems to relax and picks at the fruit cup. "You have a dog?"

Meredith's face breaks into a smile and shakes her head, "No, it was just an example."

"I had a dog when I was little. He died when I was six."

"That is the worst story I've ever heard."

I laugh and stretch my legs out in front of me. "His name was Pepper. He was a pug."

She wrinkles her nose, "Don't they have smooshed faces?"

"Hence their appeal."

"I want a Burmese or maybe a Husky, but I know they're dangerous sometimes."

"You can't have a dog on the run."

"I know," she says simply. "After I'm eighteen, I'll settle down somewhere. I'll finish my degree and get a job to put me through college. And I'll have a Burmese named Pickles or a Husky named Grapefruit."

I can't hide my smile, nor do I try to. I reach between us and grab a piece of watermelon. "Pickles and Grapefruit?" I pop the watermelon into my mouth. "Those are terrible names."

When Meredith laughs in return, I watch the laughter bubble up through her throat. "And Pepper was such a good name?" She kicks me playfully with her toes just above the knee.

"Pepper the Pug? That's the best name _ever_."

Meredith chuckles and leans back on her elbows. The rest of her sandwich lays forgotten next to her hip. "My friend Izzie had a dog. Sparkles. Princess Sparkles, actually." I raise my eyebrows. "She was a teacup poodle. One of those frilly little dogs." Meredith shakes her head. "She had the most annoying bark I've ever heard; it was high-pitched and made my eardrums explode every time. I hated that stupid dog."

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing. I mean, Izzie still has her as far as I know."

"So why do you talk about her in the past tense?"

Meredith sighs and shrugs her left shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe, to me, she's dead. It's like, when you leave your life with no promise to return, everything dies with that decision."

"Doesn't that depress you?"

She shakes her head, "No. It liberates me. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Son of a millionaire, on his way to becoming a doctor, all the while living up to his parents' high expectations of him and his sisters. Don't you ever find yourself shackled to your life? Don't you ever just want to hide away from it all?"

I've always found my life constraining, ever since I was thirteen at least, but it comes with the lifestyle. Money can buy you a new house, new cars, and the best educations in the world, but it really, really can't buy you freedom.

"I wouldn't run though. I might have a lot to live up to, but the perks are kind of amazing."

Meredith laughs humorlessly, "The perks aren't always worth it."

"I don't know, sometimes they might be. Having money has helped me a lot."

"You don't know that. You could have been on the same path without money. Or, you could have fallen into a better path. You'll never know what your life would have been if your father hadn't received all that money after selling his designs. And you have no idea what might push you to run. You'd be surprised."

I stare into Meredith's grey eyes and I wonder how someone so young could be so wise. Could it be the bravery that sent her to run or maybe she was always so smart. Maybe Meredith is a child genius and her capacity to understand difficult life problems is only overshadowed by her thirst for knowledge. Either way, I'm blindsided by her intelligence.

"I probably sound crazy," she sweeps her hand through the air, as if she's trying to scatter her words.

"No, no. Actually, it makes a lot of sense."

Meredith smiles and her cheeks flush. "I'm sorry if I'm ruining our picnic with my ramblings."

"Not at all. I ruined our day trying to force information from you. I'm sorry about that."

"It's only fair though. You're giving me so much. I can't give you anything but information."

"Well, for fairness sake, what's your favorite color then?"

Meredith's face breaks into a slow grin, "Lavender."

"Lavender," I repeat. "I bet you look great in lavender."

* * *

><p>We sit on the steps of the main branch of the New York Public Library—our legs outstretched in front of us—and two desserts half-eaten on paper between us. Meredith has taken more than half of the chocolate tart, while I've devoured most of the three French macaroons I chose—cappuccino, raspberry, and peanut butter and jelly. I sneak a bit of Meredith's tart while she looks away, but she catches me at the last moment, stabbing me with her fork. It's simple being around her. Enjoyable, even.<p>

"Tell me about your best friend," Meredith suggests.

"Mark," I sigh, rolling my eyes at just the name alone. "We've known each other since high school."

"You act like that's a bad thing," she grins between bites.

I laugh and wipe my hands on my jeans. "It's not. Mark's just… a lot to handle."

"What's he like?"

"He's… Mark. I don't know how to explain him." Meredith waits patiently, so I try. "He's a loyal friend. When I first started school, my classmates didn't like me because I was 'new money.' It's like they could tell I was different somehow. But Mark didn't care. He's a good guy, but he's not always that nice, especially when it comes to women."

Meredith lifts her eyebrow and smirks.

I shake my head, "He's a womanizer."

"And are you a womanizer, too?"

I was. I was, but I'm not anymore. Does that count? Does that matter? "Mark and I aren't similar in that many ways," I say in order to avoid the whole business.

Meredith laughs, "That would be a yes."

"I'm not, though. I mean, I've done stuff I shouldn't have, but I'm not like that anymore."

"What changed?"

I stare at Meredith for longer than I should. I take her in. I observe her. I watch as she blinks. I watch the way her hands fold behind her, holding up her weight as she relaxes in the sun. I notice her freckled ankles and the fall of her eyelashes upon her cheeks. I can't tell her I changed when she fell into my life because I don't know _why_ I changed. I don't know what stopped me that night after Owen's birthday party. I don't know what makes me want to beg her to stay.

So I smile and shrug. "I'm growing up."

"What does Mark have to say about this?"

"He doesn't know, really. We haven't really talked about it."

"But you're not hanging out with him a lot anymore. Is he pissed about that?"

I shrug again, "Maybe. We're guys; we don't really talk about our feelings."

"Since I'm sucking up all your time, you should hang out with him tonight."

"But we're cooking dinner tonight," I reminder her. Meredith made the mistake of telling me she can't cook, so I'm taking the task into my hands to teach her how.

"Invite Mark."

"No," I say a little too quickly.

Meredith laughs, "Why not?"

"Mark doesn't mix well with company. He's like that pit bull or Rottweiler you own that you cage when guests are over."

"Are you afraid of Mark being around me or me being around Mark?"

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Meredith looks away, "Nothing would happen. You'll be there."

"Why do you want him to come?"

"Because you don't want him to."

"I'm protecting you from him."

"I get that, only, I don't need protection, Derek. And I'd like to meet him."

I sigh and regard my phone. Maybe Mark won't come. Maybe he'll still be bitter about Meredith's presence in my life and refuse. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I activate my screen and make the call. I stand up and walk away.

"_Hey, what's up?"_

"I know you probably don't want to," I lead in, hoping for him to get the hint, "but Meredith thinks you should come over to dinner tonight." Silence. I continue, "We're cooking, since she's only here for two more nights, and she'd like to meet you."

"_Why?"_

"I can't really tell. But she thinks we're not spending enough time together. Shit, I don't know."

Mark laughs, _"You don't want me coming though, right? You think I'll be inappropriate or say something embarrassing?"_

He knows me too well. "I don't care what you say, but if you come, you have to stay away from her."

"_I wouldn't do anything, man. She's untouchable."_

"I hear you say that now, but I think we both remember the incident last summer, with Lexie."

"_Fuck you. She told me she was eighteen."_

"Yeah, well her lack of a driver's license and braces should have told you she was sixteen."

"_Whatever. It was only four years difference. That doesn't even count."_

I ignore the fact that Meredith is only four years my junior. "Are you coming?"

"_Yes, but only because you don't want me to."_

"See you at seven. And remember, if you do anything to her—"

"_You'll cut my balls off, I know. Later."_

Meredith's eyes are closed as I return and she looks perfectly comfortable. Her legs are crossed at the ankle as she leans back against the steps behind her. Her head rests on her bent arms and the sun soaks through her skin. Our desserts lie at her hip, melted and forgotten. I can't tell if she's sleeping, but either way, she's more comfortable than I've seen her. The drum of the city—the voices, the honking horns, passing cars, and breaks screeching—barely affect her. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was a New Yorker.

She opens her eyes and smiles up at me. "Just taking a siesta."

"You're tired?" I ask and sit beside her.

"I don't think I've eaten that much since March." She sits up and tucks her legs up under her. "So what did Mark say?"

I shake my head at the glimmer of conspiracy in her eyes, "He said yes."

"Good."

Before I can worry more about Mark and Meredith meet, I collect our forgotten food and stand. "Are you ready for phase three?"

"There's more?" Meredith stands, wiping off the back of her shorts.

"If I'm going to impress you with New York City, I'm going to do it right." I hold out my hand. "Come on," I encourage. Meredith takes my hand and we walk down Fifth Avenue.

* * *

><p>"I don't like elevators," Meredith whispers beside me and closes her eyes.<p>

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and draw her close. She warm against my side, and surprisingly soft for someone so thin. Meredith fists my shirt in her hand. "It's fine. It'll just be a minute," I whisper back. A woman in front of us notices and smiles at me.

I focus on the floor levels changing before we finally reach the 102nd floor. Meredith's grip on me remains unchanged until we reach our final destination. "Welcome to the top of New York City."

Meredith releases me and steps ahead and onto the highest observation deck in the city, on the top of the Empire State Building. I hear her gasp, once, as her eyes draw her towards the glass walls of the deck. She stares down at midtown as I stand beside her. It's been years since I've been to the top of the Empire State Building; the city has changed so much since then. Everything looks so small and insignificant from this vantage point. New Jersey looks miles away and Central Park looks miniscule in comparison.

I walk along the deck, leaving Meredith in peace, and I stare downtown towards Battery Park. World Trade Center One rises up beside the former Twin Towers and I can't help but feel a squeeze in my heart. I'll never forget the day, ten years ago, when my dad picked me up from school just after first period and drove me home in silence. He sat us all down, alongside my mom, and told us what was happening. Nancy and Kathleen knew, but for Sophie, Amelia, and I, it was shocking. To this day, Amelia doesn't remember much, but I distinctly remember turning the news on and watching the first tower crumble live. My mom cried a lot. My dad turned red with anger. And I wondered how anyone could kill so many innocent people.

Our street in Yonkers was lined with American flags the next day. My mom held my hand as she lit a candle for those who perished. That candle stayed lit for one whole year—only to be replaced as it grew small. Now, as a New York City resident, I still hear people speak of the Towers as if they still stand at the furthest corner of the island. But we all know all that's left are two holes, now memorialize by the people who died and those who tried to save them, but also lost their lives.

I turn away from World Trade Center One and force myself to smile as Meredith approached.

"Are you okay?" she stares up at me.

And I smile, a genuine, happy smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Do you like leg three of our New York extravaganza?"

"It's amazing! The city looks so small." She turns back to the glass walls and overlooks the East River. A helicopter flies past and distracts us both; it's so strange seeing it in flight so close. "I really like New York," she says quietly.

I'm not sure if she wants me to hear or not, but I step closer, my arm pressed to hers. Meredith looks up at me. I smile at her. "I'm glad you like it here. You'll have to come back and visit me someday—when you're not on the lam."

Meredith smiles and nods. "I will. You haven't seen the last of me, Derek Shepherd."

She turns back to the view in front of us and I force myself to look away from her.

_Please stay_, I think, but I keep my mouth shut.

Today has been too perfect for that.

Maybe tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**I am grateful, as always, for your absolutely wonderful comments! I am happy people are continuing to read and enjoy this story. Again, those of you who are not commenting, thank you for reading anyway!**

**Happy Monday :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I stand over Meredith and watch her slice through a cucumber. She's dangerously close to her fingertip. "Don't cut so close," I remind her. "You'll chop your finger off."<p>

Meredith sets down her knife with a sigh. "If you keep hovering over me, I'm definitely going to chop my finger off. Now, give me space and let me breathe."

After a second more of hovering, I slide away from my tiny kitchen table and resume layering the lasagna. We got a late start of preparing dinner, since we spent three hours on top of the Empire State Building. Mark's due any minute and the oven is just heating now. We'll have to have conversation for at least an hour before the lasagna is ready, which I'm seriously dreading. Meredith, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber. She's relaxed and quiet as she slices through tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, and red onion for the salad. She didn't seem to have patience for cooking the lasagna, so I gave her a mindless task.

I keep my back to her as I add the last layer of bolognaise sauce and I slide the entire lasagna in the oven.

"You know," she begins and adds all the cucumber slices to the salad bowl, "it's Memorial Day. Isn't it customary to grill?"

I take the salad bowl from in front of her and put it into the refrigerator. "And where do you think we should grill? My bedroom is a little small and has very little ventilation, so maybe the bathroom? We could start up the fan."

Meredith takes the cutting board and knife to the sink. She smirks at me. "You're an asshole," she teases. "Can't you barbecue on your front stoop?"

"Not in New York."

"Hmm," she responds, her eyes focusing on the little window above my sink.

"Do you not like lasagna?"

Meredith quickly shakes her head, "Not at all. It's just, it's Memorial Day. We should be eating cheeseburgers, hotdogs, macaroni salad, and corn on the cob." She pauses for a moment and then smiles. "The lasagna looks really good though."

My doorbell rings and Mark's voice sounds over the intercom, "I have beer and porn. Let me in." I feel heat creeping up my neck. Meredith smiles. "Oh, and hi Meredith," Mark continues.

"Asshole," I grumble and press the button to let him in. "He's off to a _great_ start."

"He's teasing you. He knows you're freaking out. Which you still won't explain to me."

"I told you. Mark's a womanizer."

"And I'm seventeen years old. He's not an idiot. Or, at least, I _hope_ he's not an idiot—considering he's going to be a doctor, too."

I shake my head and open the door for him. "Doctors can be idiots, too," I remind her.

Mark stands on the other side of the door with a twelve pack of Yuengling under his arm and a bottle of soda in his other hand. "Since we're harboring an underage fugitive, I brought a drink for her too." Mark looks around my shoulder and smiles at Meredith. "I wanted to load it with rum, but I figured Grandma Derek wouldn't appreciate that."

"Just because I don't want to liquor Meredith up, doesn't mean I'm a grandma."

"Are you going to guard her all night, or can I actually meet her?"

I stand there for a minute longer and study Mark. He's in a surprisingly good mood and even looks like he put some thought into his wardrobe choice. I sigh and step aside, allowing him to pass. Mark passes the goods in his arms onto me and holds out his hand to Meredith. "Mark Sloan, best friend of your rescuer, future plastic surgeon, millionaire."

"Mark…" I groan, setting everything onto the coffee table.

"And you must be Meredith," he ignores me. "I've heard great things about you." His tone mocks me.

I'm not going to survive this evening and neither will Mark.

"And I've heard some interesting things about you," she quips with a smile and winks at me.

I laugh, which Mark glares at and drops Meredith's hand. "All lies, I assure you. So, I hear you're leaving in a few days?"

Meredith nods, "I think I've overstayed my welcome here in New York."

"That's not true," I say before I think. Meredith glances at me. I shrug. "I don't mind if you want to stay longer."

"It's time I leave," she says and turns back to Mark. "I'm excited to hear about the lies Derek told me about you," she jokes, changing the subject. "You can tell me over lasagna."

"Lasagna?" Mark turns to me. "Dude, its eighty-five degrees outside."

I shrug, exasperated already, "Its New York, what do you want me to do?"

Mark smirks and grabs the beer. "Do you have a cooler?"

"Yeah, I think. Maybe?"

"Grab it. Meet me at the 1 in ten minutes. Bring bathing suits and towels."

"Mark—"

He shakes his head and heads toward the door, "Come on Meredith. I need your help."

"No, Mark—"

"We don't have time, man. Ten minutes."

"Meredith isn't going with you."

She smiles and grabs the soda. "I'm good. I'll go. Don't forget to turn the oven off," she calls over her shoulder and runs down the stairs after Mark.

I run my fingers through my hair and pull open the oven door. I grab the baking pan with my bare hands and curse when my fingertips burn. I kick the oven door shut and take a deep cleansing breath. Why does it matter that Meredith is alone with Mark? They both assured me that nothing will happen. He's too old; she's too young. She's leaving, so why start anything? But isn't that Mark's preference? He likes to find girls on vacation or girls who are moving, get them between the sheets, and bid goodbye as soon as they step on their plane. But no, Meredith's not like that.

After a minute trying to calm myself down, I run my fingers beneath the cold tap water and stare out my kitchen window to the street below. I try to find them among the mess of people, but I can't make out one person from the next. Instead of freaking out more, I turn off the oven, take the lasagna out and return it to the refrigerator next to the forgotten salad, and I grab the cooler from beneath the sink. I find my swim trunks right away, but Meredith's bathing suit is harder to find. Firstly, because I have no idea if she has a bathing suit, but secondly because it's lost in the mess of things in her room. I do find it, however—a little black thing with ties on the sides—and I roll it into a ball with mine.

I double-check that the oven is turned off, grab my wallet, keys, and phone, and shut the door behind me.

* * *

><p>The town car smells of pee.<p>

Meredith sits between Mark and me with a Gourmet Garage bag between her feet while I stare out the window and try not to lose my lunch from the horrific smell. Mark doesn't seem to notice; neither does Meredith, as they chat happily. Mark called his driver, Peter, as soon as they left my apartment, and had him pick us up. Mark hates the subway, first of all, and second of all, we have "places to be," or so he's said fifteen times. As we head across the Brooklyn Bridge, I begin to reconsider my friendship with Mark.

I've cooled down since my minor freak out, and while I'm still suspicious of Mark asking Meredith to help him, I understand now. The bag between Meredith's feet is full of barbecue supplies—hamburger and hot dog buns, ground beef and hot dogs, ketchup and mustard, and even corn on the cob; it's full of everything Meredith said she wanted for a good barbecue. It irks me that Mark thought of it before me, but I'm pleasantly happy that I'm—we're—able to give Meredith another good New York experience.

We cut across Brooklyn and head down past Coney Island and Brighton Beach, stopping only when we reach Manhattan Beach Park. Peter opens Mark's door, pulls two other bags—and my cooler—from the trunk, and opens my door, all before I can even locate my phone. He carries most everything down towards the picnic area just shy of the pearly sand and waits for us quietly. I've never wanted a driver or an assistant, but Mark—being Mark—enjoys having a beck-and-call man.

"Thanks Peter. We'll be here until about ten. I'll call you."

Peter smiles and nods before leaving. "Does he ever talk?" I ask Mark.

"That's not his job," Mark quips and begins unloading the goods. I wonder if I've ever sounded as pretentious. However, if Mark does overstep his bounds, Meredith doesn't notice because her eyes are trained on the ocean stretching out before us.

I stand beside her and slide my hands into my jeans. "It's nice, right?"

She turns to me, as if she hadn't known I was there, and nods. "I haven't been to the beach in almost a year."

"Where was the last beach you visited?"

Meredith pauses and I remember my stupidity. Of course I've asked too much of her, especially after she's shared so much today. But instead of refusing, she smiles. "Santa Monica."

"I've never been there. Did you like it?"

"It might be my favorite place, ever," she smiles and turns back to the water. "I think I'm going to change into my bathing suit while you guys fiddle with the grill." Meredith glances at Mark, who can't seem to catch a flame. "It looks like it might take a while," she jokes and grabs her suit.

"You know what," Mark waves the grill lighter around in the air, flame flickering and all, "I was an excellent Boy Scout and I know how to start a grill."

Meredith laughs and heads towards the bathrooms, "Alright Sloan, I'll believe it when I see it."

With Meredith gone, Mark returns to his task and I can think about is the time he spent with Meredith alone. What did they talk about? Clearly they have a good friendship, what with the jokes and her calling him Sloan. Obviously she doesn't hate him. Mark doesn't look after her, which is promising. Normally, he'd take the opportunity to check out a girl's ass as she walks away. Unless he already had the chance earlier. I sigh at my own psychosis and wonder when I became too introspective.

"Relax dude," Mark glances up at me and then whoops. "I'm a freaking caveman, starting a fire and shit," he brushes his hands together. "And stop freaking out about this."

"About what?"

"Meredith and me being around each other. Granted, she's hot, but I'm seriously not interested."

"Why not?" It seems odd that Mark's not interested in a perfectly good breathing female.

Mark pulls the hamburgers and hotdogs from their respective packages and throws the meat onto the grill. He removes a cutting board and a spatula from the bag and set them both aside, alone with the condiments and freshly prepared potato salad. "Can you grab me a beer and put the rest on ice?" Mark asks, completely ignoring my question.

I follow his orders—mainly because I _need_ a beer—and grab us both one. I put the rest of the beer into the ice and stow the cooler beneath the shady table. The bottles sweat in my hands under the hot, late afternoon sun. Mark presses the burgers down onto the grill with his spatula—the juices dripping down onto the coals. He takes the proffered beer. We clink the necks together. I take a long draw, and then, feeling bold, I ask, "Why aren't you interested in Meredith?"

Mark smirks and wraps the ears of corn in foil and tosses them onto the grill. "Because you are." He looks up at me seriously, and I've never seen him regard me without his trademark smirk.

The slap of flip-flops approaching draw me away from Mark's peculiar look, and I almost choke on my next sip of beer as my eyes rest on Meredith. She's dressed in her black bikini—the bikini I brought for her. The triangle-shaped top covers nothing besides her breasts and I immediately notice the wide expanse of chest—from collarbones to her sternum, and down her ribs to her abdomen—belly and hips, all beautifully exposed. She wears her shorts low on her hips, the button and zipper undone, so they show a swath of black from her bikini bottoms. I refocus on her stomach again, noticing the light smattering of freckles around her belly button and the way her sides narrow between her waist and her hips. I can see nearly every rib, both her hip bones, and her thin, delicate collarbones, and while I know I'm blatantly staring, I can't turn away.

At some point, Mark must have walked away from the grill, and he slaps my back. I turn away from Meredith in a daze and glare at my best friend. "What were we just talking about, Shep?"

_My feelings for Meredith. _

I don't have feelings for Meredith.

I shake my head.

Mark laughs and drinks more beer. "Going swimming?" he asks.

I glance at Meredith and her eyes are on me. She's watching me. Obviously she noticed I was staring, but maybe I can write it off with a smile or joke. Only I can't really function as she continues to stand there nearly naked. Almost as if she can hear my thoughts, Meredith takes her bunched up tee shirt from her fist and pulls it over her head. I don't fail to notice her stowing a lavender bra and white panties in one of the plastic bags. She follows my eyes and blushes.

_I bet you look good in lavender._

"Uh, no, not yet. I'm starving."

"Didn't I feed you enough this afternoon?" I ask, breaking the ice.

Meredith smiles, "I think almost three months of not properly eating has caught up with me."

I'm reminded, once again, that Meredith's leaving. But I shake the thought away. I smile instead and decide to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

Mark plates the food and the three of us sit down, Mark and me on one side of the picnic table, and Meredith on the other, and gorge ourselves on cheeseburgers, hotdogs, corn, potato salad, and fresh cut watermelon. Mark and I drink beer and Meredith guzzles lemonade unlike anyone I've ever seen before. After my second hot dog and cheeseburger—each—I feel like I might float away from all the food. Meredith lies down on the bench and groans, patting her full stomach. Mark, on the other hand, looks perfectly happy after his third hot dog and stands up.

"I say we change into our suits," he says, looking at me, "and we do a little swimming before the sun sets and the sharks descend."

Meredith sits up, "Sharks?" Her eyes grow wide in the cutest way I've ever seen.

"Yes, the ocean is full of them," Mark winks and walks towards the bathroom.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. They mostly feed at dawn and dusk," I tease.

"But it _is_ dusk," Meredith waves her hands in the air.

I smirk, "Be right back. Don't disappear on me."

Meredith's fear slides away and she nods seriously. "I won't."

Mark and I take turns changing in the gross handicapped stall at the end of the rows of urinals. The bathroom reeks and our shoes slide against the wet and sandy floor. As I carefully try to make sure my clothes don't touch the floor, Mark talks through the door. "So, Meredith in a bikini…" he fishes.

I sigh and fold my shirt over the stall door. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Feast for the eyes, that one."

"Mark," I warn.

He laughs and pulls my shirt from the door. "Hey!" I call.

"Calm down. Shit, you're so tense today. I take it you're still playing the 'she's only seventeen' card."

I pull my swim trunks on and open the stall door. Mark leans against the tiled wall and smirks at me. "You're disgusting, you know that, right?"

I tug my shirt from his hands and turn on the sink. "She won't be seventeen forever," he says in all seriousness. As I wash my hands, I glance at Mark in the mirror. "That's _if _you can wait that long. When did she say she'd be eighteen, September?"

"That's not the point, Mark. Not everything is about sex."

"Then what is this about?" he challenges.

I turn off the water and dry my hands on my shorts. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because, when she leaves and you enter the dark, scary place, someone needs to pick up the pieces for you. _I'm_ that person. And I don't want her leaving in two days because you didn't try to make her stay. You do want her to stay, right?"

"Of course. Anything could happen to her out there."

Mark shrugs, "Then make her stay."

"And how do you expect me to do that?"

He laughs, "You should bring her to Nancy's wedding."

The thought of Meredith, stuck with my family, for an entire day, sounds like a disaster. I shake my head. "She'll be gone by then."

"You're the romantic in this friendship. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

* * *

><p>"Come on Meredith!" Mark calls from the water. He slaps his hands across the surface like a child. In fact, the children in the water gravitate to him, and he chases them through the water, tossing them over his head only to splash through the surface a few feet away. They laugh and swim back to him. Mark and his four little ducklings wave to us as we stand on the shore.<p>

Meredith stands with just her toes in the water. She looks weary.

"You know," I glance at her, "the beaches of California have way more sharks than the shores of Brooklyn. In fact, I don't think there's ever been a shark attack here."

"The water's cold," she sighs and inches a little further in.

I'm standing up to my ankles in cool Atlantic water, and I can feel the goose bumps on my arms. The water _is_ cold, but the air outside is so hot. "Once you start moving around, it won't feel so bad."

Mark swims closer to the shore; "There aren't really sharks, Meredith!" he calls.

I notice a few parents staring out across the water. It's like mentioning a bomb on a plane; you can't say shark on a beach without receiving a few glares. Mark doesn't seem to notice, "So help me Meredith, if you don't get in the water, I'll drag you in by your hair."

"You wouldn't dare!" she calls back to him.

He would. Mark glances at me—as subtly as he can manage—and I know what he wants me to do. Meredith glances down at her wet toes and I can see the goose bumps on her arms. She's cold; the water's cold. No, it's too mean. Mark continues to glare at me for a minute longer and then returns to the screaming kids.

Meredith looks up at me, "You're going to drag me in, aren't you?"

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it.

But I shake my head no. "Not if you don't want me to."

Meredith rolls her shoulders back and turns to me. "Do it."

"What? Really?"

"I'm never getting in that water if you don't drag me in."

"You don't have to go in. We can just lie on the beach. Watch Mark act like a toddler," I smile.

Meredith shakes her head. She lifts her arms up towards me and rests her hands on my shoulders. "Do your worst Shepherd."

For a few seconds, I stare at Meredith, weighing my options. But the thrill in her eyes and the smile on her lips makes me feel like its okay. I sweep my arms under her back and knees and draw her up from the sand. She makes a soft sound—like a squeak—and settles against my chest. Her face is close to mine, her lips drawn up in a smile, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Mark hollers from the water and beckons us further. "Ready?" I ask. I'm not even sure if _I'm_ ready for the cold water.

Meredith nods, "Yes."

I run as fast as I can into the water, feeling it crashing against my knees and thighs. Meredith closes her eyes and draws herself closer to me. Her butt and back hit the water first and she gasps. Just as my pelvis wraps in the cold water, I duck us both underneath the surface, only letting go of Meredith as soon as I know she's completely immersed in the water. I can feel the ocean current sending me towards shore before pulling me back. For a few seconds, I allow the feeling to overwhelm me. The sand from the ocean floor rolls along my back and I can taste the salt water already in my mouth. It feels good to enjoy the quiet moment.

From my left, I feel a warm body. A hand? A foot? I can't tell. It might be Meredith, or maybe Mark, or maybe one of the kids playing among the adults. After another second, I pull myself up and resurface with water cascading across my eyes.

"Jesus man, I thought you died down there." Mark slaps a wet hand against my wet back.

I wipe the water from my eyes. The water is cold, yes, but as soon as my shoulders feel the cooling evening air, I duck back down into the ocean. It feels better to have just my head floating in the air. Meredith pops up on my left, sputtering and wiping sea water from her eyes. She shivers and glances at me. "Shit, it's cold."

"You shouldn't say shit!" a blond boy reprimands her. He looks to be seven or eight.

Meredith ducks down into the water as well and we both look like floating heads. "Well then you shouldn't either," she reminds him.

The boy sticks his tongue out at her and swims back to Mark.

"It's freezing," she shivers and I see her fingertips surface as she rubs her arms warm.

I nod, "But the air is colder, if that's possible."

"It feels good to be in the ocean again, though."

And it does. My parents, sisters, and I visited Crete and Morocco last summer, but the beaches along the Mediterranean are so different from those on the Atlantic. The water there is so blue, but it's landlocked and contained in-and-of-itself. Here, with the gray ocean stretching to the skyline, you could float on forever without ever reaching land. The Atlantic seems too vast, too open, and too dangerous.

Meredith swims past me lying on her back. She closes her eyes and allows the waves to glide in under her.

"My parents took me on vacation when I was eight." I watch her mouth as she speaks. She doesn't open her eyes. "It's the only real one we took as a family. We went to Disney World and Daytona Beach. My dad rode every ride with me. I was terrified of The Tower of Terror. The first time I screamed my head off. By the sixth time, I was smiling and laughing with each drop." She opens her eyes and rights herself in the water. "My mom chose Daytona Beach because she didn't want to be anywhere near the muscle tees of Miami, but also didn't want to be in Gulf water. Yet she never once went in the water.

"My dad teased me about sharks the whole time." She smiles at me. "Kind of like you and Mark. He kept telling me if I went too far, a big old great white would jump out of the water and drag me off. I clung to him. I even think I cried. But I remember really loving that vacation, even with the sunburn I got that lasted more than a month."

A bigger wave crashes around our hips and Meredith is carried off a few feet from me. I swim slowly after her, trailing down the beach. "What was your favorite vacation?"

"Mine was the first one we ever took also. It was right after my dad received his check from Ikea. We'd never had time or money to go anywhere besides my aunt and uncle's house in Kings Park on Long Island, and my dad decided to make it really special. He took all seven of us to Australia for two weeks." Meredith's eyes widen. "It must have cost him twenty-thousand dollars, but it was amazing. We stayed in Sydney for eight days and then Melbourne for five. I can't remember a lot, probably because it was too overwhelming, but I held a koala bear and we snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef."

Another wave carries us closer together and I swim around her. Meredith turns, "I'm so jealous. I'd love to see Australia."

"Have you been overseas at all?"

She nods, "When I was fourteen my aunt—my mom's sister—took me to Europe for a month in the summer. She lived in Spain for a while and just outside London, so we visited her friends while hopping from country to country. We started in England, visited Wales, and then France, Switzerland, Italy, and finally Spain."

"Was it amazing?"

"Yes," she pauses, "and no. I never really knew my aunt before then, so it was awkward for a while. But later, it was fun. I loved Spain."

"Do you still see your aunt?"

She swims around me, her eyes lowered to the water's surface. "She died a few months after that. A car accident."

"I'm sorry." I say sincerely.

Meredith shrugs. "It's okay. It actually means that it was nicer that I got to travel with her. If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have cared."

"Did she have kids?"

"No. And she was actually the last of my extended family."

"How is that possible?" I think of my extended family—my father's three brothers and two sister; my mother's twin and her two other sisters; all the cousins, and second cousins, and cousins-in-law. I think of Kathleen's two kids and Nancy's from her first marriage. Our family extends far and wide and at our last reunion—three years ago—we counted out to be around seventy-five people.

Meredith dips her head back into the water, wetting her hair again. She brushes it out with her fingers around her shoulders. "I never knew my grandparents and my dad was an only child."

"So it's just you and your parents."

"Yeah," she says, but something in her tone means there's more to say. So much more.

"Meredith, did something happen—"

"Hey!" Someone bellows from the shore.

I pull my eyes from Meredith and focus on Mark waving his arms from the beach. "Guys you drifted! And the lifeguard is off duty! We should pack it in!" I stare down the beach and realize we've drifted at least three hundred feet. In fact, we're dangerously close to a jetty.

Meredith starts swimming towards shore without another word and I follow.

* * *

><p>"So I behaved myself today," Mark reminds me.<p>

Meredith offered to help us pack up, but Mark shook his head at the idea. She sits in the sand, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, staring out at the darkening ocean. The sun has met the western horizon and the only light comes from the streetlamps above the parking lot. We're the last visitors and the beach is eerily quiet.

I lift the cooler out from under the table, opening the spout to allow the melted ice to drain. "I'm proud of you."

"Did you get any closer to making her stay?"

I glance at Meredith again and I see her hand rise to her face.

"No."

"I'm going to call Peter. You should tell her we'll be leaving soon." He nods to the beach, giving me another in, another way to talk to her.

I nod and walk down the sand, kicking my shoes off just beside the grassy dunes. The wind coming off the ocean is stronger now, and I wonder if a storm is coming in. Meredith doesn't acknowledge me as I sit down beside her. In fact, she turns her face away. I hear her sniffle, once, and I realize she's crying. For a minute, I say nothing; I do nothing. She cries into the wind, but she doesn't move. After the minute, I touch her arm swathed in the beach towel.

Meredith turns to me and the streetlamp fifty feet away spills light onto her tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes are rimmed red and her lips are downturned in pain. Twin tears flow down her left cheek and I reach up to wipe them away. She doesn't stop me; she doesn't blink.

"What's wrong?" I whisper and the wind carries my voice away.

Meredith's hair—now dry—flutters around her shoulders and face, getting caught in the tears on her right cheek. I tuck the hair behind her ear, feeling the wetness of her skin.

"I lied to you, before."

"That's okay. I'm sure you lie a lot to me," I smile.

She shakes her head, "You know I wouldn't if I didn't have to."

"I know. Do you want to tell me what you lied about?"

More tears spill over her cheeks and I run a comforting hand up and down her arm. "I lied when I told you it was just me and my parents."

"So there's someone else?"

She shakes her head.

"But then…" Does she not have parents? Is she running because she's all alone in the world?

Meredith drags the back of her hand under her nose. She wipes the tears from her eyes. "It's just my mom and me."

I wipe away another tear from her skin. "Your dad?"

"He died. When I was thirteen."

"Oh Meredith," I sigh and wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her nearer.

Meredith folds into me, her face pressing into my shoulder. Her cries because urgent and I can feel her tears soaking my shirt. I don't say anything. I keep my arm around her shoulders and I run my hand up and down her arm. My other hand finds her hand tucked against her chest and I hold it in mine. I tuck her head beneath my chin and I close my eyes, trying not to think of the pain I might feel if my dad had died. I focus on the sound of her cries; I focus on her tears; I focus on her shaking body.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper into her ear.

She nods and wraps her arm around my waist, clutching my tee shirt in her hands—much like during our ride to the top of the Empire State Building.

I stroke her hair and allow her to cry and cry until she's quiet and still against me. When she finally begins to pull away from me, I let her go. Her face is still red, but her tears have dried in the wind. She tucks her hair behind her ears and folds her hands in her lap. I don't know what to do with my hands, so I hold the tops of my knees and watch her.

"Mark's probably waiting for us."

"It doesn't matter."

Meredith blinks and her eyes drag slowly to reopen. "I'm tired, Derek."

Without even saying the words, I know the subject is closed. I stand and help her up from the sand. Meredith keeps her eyes down as we approach the car and Mark. He shoots me a concerned look and I shake my head. We all slide into the car, but no one says a thing. Meredith lays her head back against the leather seat of the town car and I watch another round of quiet tears streak down her cheeks. I sit helplessly and watch as Meredith begins to fall apart in front of my eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**I can't thank you all enough for your lovely responses to my story! I'm especially happy that you all seem to be enjoying my little fic. For all those new readers, welcome! **

**Happy Monday!  
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><p>I stand in her doorway and I watch her sleep. I watch her because in just a few hours, she'll be walking away and onto the next leg of her adventure. Her backpack is packed and propped against my spare desk. Her shoes are neatly placed beside it and her clothes for tomorrow—today—are folded on the desk. It's barely five in the morning and we're already late, but I need another minute just watching her; I need another moment knowing, for a fact, that she's alright and safe.<p>

It's strange to think that just two weeks ago, I was finishing my final exam in chemistry three, and getting ready to spend the night drinking with Mark and our other friends. Two weeks ago, I brought that girl Megan home and spent the night with her. Two weeks and a day ago, I pulled Meredith from the alleyway and brought her home. Two weeks ago, I was a philandering, over-privileged alpha-male, claiming what I wanted with no thought as to who it may hurt, and thinking of nothing but myself and my next drink.

Meredith snores in her sleep, I learn. She sleeps on her left side, facing the windows. She curls her hands beneath her chin and angles her face down. Her legs are tucked up in the fetal position and the toes on her right foot hang out from beneath the heavy comforter. Her breathing is deep and even and if not for the sound of her snores and the gentle wisp of her breath, I'd have no idea she was even alive.

We haven't spoken candidly about her life or her father since Monday. I worked Tuesday afternoon, only to return home to the scent of cooking lasagna. Meredith found my recipe and finished the lasagna from the night before. But we ignored her tears from the beach and Meredith spoke of pleasant things—finishing her degree, finding a stable home, and buying a dog…someday. I can't ask her about her father and until she provides the information for me, I am left wondering how he died.

The sky grows lighter with each minute and I can't wait any longer.

I cross around Meredith's bed and sit beside her knees. Her mouth is a perfect pout as she sleeps. I place my hand on her shoulder and gently shake her awake, "Meredith," I whisper. Her eyes spring open with surprise. "Hey," I smile.

She runs her hand over her eyes and forces herself to sit up. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, we have somewhere to be."

Meredith looks out the window and then to the clock on her side table. 5:07. "Derek," she groans and falls back onto the mattress, "it's not even morning yet."

I smirk and stand up, grabbing her hand as I go, "It's morning and we have somewhere to be. It's time sensitive," I tug her to sit up on the edge of her bed. "You have five minutes to get dressed. I'll bring the hot chocolate."

The morning is in the fifties, so I gather a blanket and thermos of hot chocolate and sit outside Meredith's room and wait. She stumbles out—literally—a few minutes later. She braces herself on her doorframe with a grimace. I try not to laugh. "I hate you for waking me up so early. Where are you dragging me to?"

"Upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Come on."

I begin to ascend the stairs past the fourth and fifth floors, before reaching the roof access door. Months ago, my landlord had mentioned fixing up the roof for all the tenants, but he never got around to it. Mostly, the roof houses dead potted plants and a filthy ashtray, but there are also two folding chairs and one fallen tiki torch. I push the two chairs together and lay a blanket on the chair for Meredith; she's already shivering.

Meredith sits down beside me and pulls the blanket onto her lap. I offer her hot chocolate and lean back for the sun.

It's been forever since I've seen the sun rise over the city. Months, even. Recently, the only time I've seen the rising sun is when I've been out all night drinking or coming back from a girl's house.

Meredith drinks from the thermos and passes it to me. I take a long swig—burning my tongue, of course—and feel the warmth of the hot chocolate warming my insides. "I haven't seen the sun rise in forever," she sighs.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

She glances at me, her golden hair falling into her face, "Is this where you're going to ask me to stay?"

I smirk, unable to tear my eyes from hers. "Not yet. Maybe after the sun rises."

At exactly 5:25, the sun begins to rise in the east. It takes a few more minutes for the yellow orb to reach us, but in that time, the sky turns from deep, deep blue, to purple, to pink before it shines a brilliant yellow. Shadows creep across the roof and the buildings surrounding us and the city is miraculously quiet below. Meredith holds the thermos in her hands, every once and a while offering me a sip. She brings her legs to her chest as her face bathes in the morning light.

My parents' house in New Canaan is a quiet place. The neighbors are at least three acres away and our property is surrounded by trees on three sides. I can lie in the backyard and hardly hear a car. It's the perfect place to watch the sun rise or set. It's hard to make out the sun at the beginning, but slivers of light pool through the sparse trees and bathe the manicured lawn in yellows, reds, and oranges. It's wonderfully peaceful and for just a second, I can forget that I'm on a filthy rooftop with traffic gliding down below; for a second, I'm home where it's quiet and warm.

Once the sun fully rises above our eye line, Meredith curls her legs under herself and regards me.

It's time.

"Where will you go first?" I ask.

"I'm headed off the island and then south through New Jersey."

"And then?"

"I'm thinking Virginia. I'll stay there for a little while and then make my way to Florida, maybe."

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling tension building in my chest and shoulders. "Where will you stay in Virginia?"

"Maybe some nice, clueless, attractive guy will take pity on me again." She smirks at me.

"Attractive?"

Meredith blushes and settles back in her seat. "I knew you'd pick up on that."

"I don't get why you won't stay."

"Do you know the penalty for harboring a minor in this state?"

I shake my head. I should have looked it up when Meredith first came into my life, but before I knew it, I _wanted_ her around. I _want _her around. I've laid in bed during the last two weeks and wondered what might happen if anyone found out; Mark could tell anyone he wanted to, or maybe someone could see us together and question our relationship. At any moment, my landlord could show up and question me about the young woman staying in my apartment. But somewhere along the line, I no longer cared what people thought. At some point, I decided the better thing to do—no matter the consequence—was to keep her here, safe, with me.

"I don't care what the penalty is."

"It's three-to-twelve months in jail and up to a one-thousand dollar fine. You _should_ care about that."

"Who's going to find out about you?"

"Anyone who sees my face on the side of a milk carton or on one of those missing kids' websites. It wouldn't take much to figure out who I am Derek, if someone wanted to."

I stand up from the chair, unable to sit still and watch her telling me she's leaving. "Do you understand what could happen to you if you go? What do you think would have happened if I didn't bring you here?"

"I have no idea," she says quietly. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me Derek. I could never repay you for everything you gave me, but I don't think you understand the severity of what you're doing here. It's dangerous and someone could very easily figure out who I am."

"_I_ haven't even figured out who you are. Trust me, no one else will."

Meredith sets the thermos down on the ground and rises from the chair to stand in front of me. The sun feels too hot now; my skin feels like its blistering. "My name is Meredith Elise Grey." My eyes snap to hers. "You were the first person I didn't lie to about my name," she smiles, but her gaze doesn't falter. "I was born October 11, 1993 in Boston, Massachusetts. We moved from our Boston apartment when I was six and my parents bought a big house in Ipswich. Our time share was in the Berkshires. That's where my dad taught me about the stars." She fiddles with the ties of her sweatshirt. "My mom is a surgeon. She's pretty famous, actually. Ellis Grey."

"Your mom is Ellis Grey?

She smiles and nods. "When you told me you were going to be a surgeon, I knew I could never tell you anything about my life. You'd know my mother's name. But I'm leaving and it doesn't matter anymore." She gazes directly into the sun. "My dad was a biology professor at Boston University. That's why he taught me about animal tracks and tree leaves. That's why we watched the stars. My dad wanted me to be like him, interested in the science of the earth and animals and not just that of the human body. He wanted me to be well-rounded.

"When I was thirteen, I came home from school on a day like any other. I had a snack, I did my homework, and I gossiped on the phone with Izzie for more than an hour. My mom was working late and my dad was due back any minute, only he never came home. It wasn't until nine at night that I figured he might already be home." Her voice falters and I want to comfort her, only I'm too entranced to say anything. "I went to my parents' bedroom and knocked on the closed door. No one answered. When I went in, all the lights were on, but the bathroom door was shut. My dad's coat and shoes were on the floor. I knocked three times and called his name, but he didn't answer. When I opened the door to the bathroom, I saw my dad… lying on the floor… not moving," she whispers the last part, as if she can't say the words without them tasting of venom.

"I knew he was dead, but I ran to him anyway. He was pale and his lips were chapped. His face looked peaceful, though, as if he had merely gone to sleep. There was no blood, no evident pain, only a prescription bottle with only three little white pills in the bottom.

"It was like my mom had my dad's life on radar, because she rushed into the bathroom only a few minutes after me. She took one look at my dad's body and threw up in the sink. She didn't even try to revive him. She handed me the phone, told me to leave the room, and asked me to call an ambulance." Her eyes grow watery at the memory, but no tears fall. "I waited outside, on the swing my dad built, for ten minutes before the ambulance arrived. They asked me all kinds of questions, but I didn't answer a single one. I couldn't." Dual tears fall down her cheeks. "They walked past me with the body bag on the gurney. My mom followed and left me home alone while she rode with my father's body to the hospital. To the morgue."

Meredith wipes at her cheeks and fists her hands in front of her. "I never saw him again. We didn't have a funeral and my mom had him cremated."

"Meredith," I reach out for her and take her hand in mine. Her palm is clammy with sweat.

"My mom started drinking that night. I guess it took a while before she was a full-fledged alcoholic, but she drank and drank and drank, most the time until she passed out on the couch or at the kitchen table or in the shower. I didn't realize she had a problem until the bills stopped being paid and we didn't have electric for a week or the many times the water was shut off. She didn't even notice when I took a few of her credit cards to pay the bills.

"She 'retired' only three months after he died. We were living on her pension and his life insurance, but the house is too expensive and the bills are too frequent. I couldn't leave though. I was only fourteen and I had no idea where I'd go or how I'd survive.

"I stayed, but it was bad. My mom literally did nothing but drink, eat, and sleep—in that order. She barely even looked at me in the last year. When I entered high school, Cristina and Izzie realized what was going on, so most nights were spent with them. My mom never called once to see where I was. But high school wasn't easy and Izzie and Cristina began experimenting like any teenager would. They drank and smoked weed and I said I wouldn't. But then I met Alex and it all seemed like fun." She meets my eyes and I try to hide my premature suspicions about Alex. "Alex wasn't good for me. Or maybe I wasn't good for him—too damaged, too broken. Things got out of hand and I realized I was turning into my mother.

"On February 28 of this year, I came home from a Nearly Leap Year party."

I smirk.

Meredith sports a brief smile, "It was dumb. We used to just make up party names to make ourselves feel better about drinking on a Monday. I didn't actually feel too bad about drinking because being my mother's daughter meant I _had _to drink. Anyway, my mom was particularly coherent that night and she berated me for my actions. We yelled and screamed and one thing turned to another and she slapped me across the face." I squeeze her palm. "I left two days later and I haven't looked back."

I don't know what to say. There aren't words for the pain and suffering she's been through. And here I sit, on top of my parent-funded apartment, attending Colombia and drinking through all of New York City, and she's barely holding on.

When I continue to say nothing, Meredith cuts through my thoughts, "So that's why you don't want me around. I'm fucked up, Derek. My baggage could drown all of Manhattan and the last thing I want to do is pull someone else into my path of destruction."

"I want to help you."

"You already have."

I shake my head, "No, I want to _continue_ to help you. I want to be here for you."

"And you will be. Everything you've given me—from the clothes to the supplies—it will help me survive. You might not be there in flesh, but you've done more for me than I could have ever asked for."

"It's not enough."

"Of course it is. It's all I need."

"Meredith," I sigh and release her hand. I can't think with her hand in mine. I don't know how to make her stay. "What I'm offering you here is a chance. I'm offering you shelter and food. I'm offering you a home and protection. I don't care about some fucking law that has nothing to do with me. I'd stand in a goddamn courtroom and tell everyone how your mother neglected you for years before you took your life in your hands and ran. I'd tell them how she abused her own child and I'd tell them how _I_ was there for you. This law is bullshit and you know it."

Meredith calmly listens before speaking, "It is bullshit. You've shown me more kindness than anyone, but in the eyes of the law—"

"Fuck the law!" I snap.

"Derek, you won't make me stay. Nothing you say could make me put you through those consequences."

I turn my back to her and lean over the side of the vaulted, stairwell skylight. The window panes of dirty, but I can just barely make out my reflection. I look angry—pissed, upset, but I feel helpless. She's adamant about leaving, but I'm adamant about her staying. I can't see her go. I can't sit back and watch her walk out that door without knowing she's safe. For the rest of my life I'll think about her, and not because she's the runaway that got away, but because she's the _girl_ that got away.

Maybe Mark is right. Maybe I'm blind to reality because I know it's wrong, but I've broken so many rules. I've tested so many waters and I've wound our futures together whether she likes it or not. Meredith might see me as he current protector—and maybe she's done the same song and dance in other cities along the east coast with different guys—but I refuse to merely be a stop along her liberation. I refuse to sit back and allow her to run away from me as well.

When I turn to face her, she looks older than before. Maybe it's the direct morning sunlight, or maybe it's the look of complete calm across her features, but either way, I've never seen her look so beautiful.

I right myself in my spot and I cross the distance between us. Meredith looks up into my eyes as I lean over her and as I inch my lips closer to hers, she doesn't pull away. I expect her to slap me for insinuating that she _would_ even kiss me, but she doesn't. In fact, just as I feel her breath on my skin, I watch her eyes flutter shut. She _wants_ me to kiss her, which makes the kiss much more desirable. I sweep my fingers through her hair and find the back of her neck. Her hair feels like strands of silk and the skin at the back of her neck is fire hot.

Before I can consider the consequences, I close the distance between us and press my mouth to hers. For a moment, we remain unmoving. Our lips fuse together and our noses touch just at the tip. I can feel her pulse beneath my palm and her body just barely brushing against mine. My heart begins to race, my mind begins to cloud, and I turn my face to the side and open my mouth against hers. Meredith kisses me back softly, quietly, as her lips move in a perfectly synchronized dance with mine. Her mouth opens and I can taste her breath on my tongue.

Meredith's hands press to my sides and slide around to my back. She takes a half-step closer, so there is not an inch between us, and drags her tongue along my bottom lip. I meet her tongue with mine and I feel a familiar pull in my stomach—like a flip—and I reach my other hand up to cup her cheek. Meredith's mouth feels warm against mine and her lips are yielding and soft. Her bottom lip—fuller than her top—slides between my lips as I lavish it with slow, wavering licks; Meredith sighs as I tug her lip slightly away from her, before pressing soft kisses against her mouth. I can hardly think, hardly breathe, but none it matters. It feels too good to be kissing her.

I pull away because I want to see her face again. Her wide, gray eyes glance up at me curiously and I lean forward once more to kiss her soft mouth. We keep our eyes open, staring at each other, as my tongue slides out once more to taste her mouth. I slide along her bottom teeth and under her tongue before pulling away once more. Her pulse is racing beneath my hand and I can feel my heart thundering in my chest.

"Stay with me," I whisper before I lean into her once more.

Meredith kisses me before I can even close the distance between us. Her mouth is rough against mine, but the feeling draws me nearer to her. I groan and run the hand on her neck down across her shoulder blades and along her spine. I feel the base of her shirt rising a few inches from the top of her jeans, and duck my hand underneath to feel her warm skin beneath my fingertips. Meredith curls her hand behind my neck and draws me down over her, helping her to not stand too far up on her toes. Her hair swings down her back and brushes the back of her shirt; I can feel each whisper of hair with each turn of her head.

I've never kissed anyone, nor been kissed by anyone, like this before.

As we mutually pull away, I kiss along her mouth, to her chin and up across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. I draw my arms around her waist, not touching her skin and press the side of my face against hers. "Stay with me," I say again.

Meredith sighs against my neck and trails her hands up my arms and around my shoulders. "I can't."

I pull away, refusing to fully release her, so I can look into her eyes. "Why not? Don't tell me you're protecting me."

"I can't see you go to jail for me, Derek. Especially not now."

"Why not now? Because we kissed?"

"I'm seventeen. This is wrong."

I drop my arms and step away from her. "Then why did you kiss me back?"

"Because I've wanted to kiss you since you found me on your doorstep days after you rescued me. Because you've been so patient and kind, especially that first night when I was terrified of everything. You've been there for me since the second you met me and all I can think about when I'm around you is kissing you," she admits. "So I decided to be selfish and let you kiss me, because we both wanted it. No, needed it. But now I'm leaving because everything is going to get messier if we let this continue."

"What if someone hurts you?"

She shrugs, "I don't know. What if someone hurts you?" She touches my sternum with her palm. "Your heart is racing."

"No one is hurting me right now except you Meredith Elise Grey."

Her eyes close slowly and she smiles, which seems highly inappropriate. "Will you say my name again?"

When she opens her eyes, I see freedom and unbridled happiness. I want to draw her to me again, but instead I give her what she wants, "Stay with me, Meredith Elise Grey."

"I'll come back the day I turn eighteen. I promise."

"A lot can happen in five months."

"Even more might happen if I stay here with you. You have to understand Derek, if anything happened to you because of me being here…" she shakes her head and drops her hand from my chest. "I'll be safe for five months. I'll be okay."

I can't let her go. "Meredith…"

She walks forward and presses her mouth to mine once more. _This_ kiss is a goodbye. _This_ kiss is a promise of tomorrows, but tomorrows too far on the horizon to see. _This_ kiss is wrapped in sadness. I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her as deeply as I possibly can. I flood her mouth with my tongue and she enthusiastically kisses me back. Her body molds perfectly to mine and this kiss feels like a habit instead of an extension of our first kiss. But before I can fully imprint the feeling of her mouth on mine, she tears away from me.

"Stay here," she says between deep breaths. "Don't follow me."

"I won't let you leave here." I advance towards her.

Meredith raises her hands and takes another step back. "Please Derek, I'm begging you. Just give me five minutes."

How can I possibly keep her here? How can I make her stay? Maybe I'm not enough for her. Maybe someone else, along the way, was enough for her. Maybe she'll be safe. If only I knew she'd be safe, none of it would matter so much. If she had a safe house or somewhere to board, I wouldn't feel sick to my stomach. I could ask her to lie to me, make me feel better, but I'd always know the truth of the matter is: the best place in the world for her is in the bedroom next to mine.

"Tell me you'll be safe."

She nods, "I'll see you soon, Derek."

With one last lingering look, she heads down the stairs to my apartment, leaving me on the roof with the hot sun and the brief memory of her mouth on mine.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: When I started this story over a year and a half ago, it took place at the Grand Canyon with Meredith telling the story. It never made sense, but I loved the idea of romanticizing the Canyon - and I loved the idea of having them sharing a tent together by the Colorado River ;) This story remolded itself and I rewrote it in New York with Derek as the protagonist. I've had a clear vision of this story since then, but now, after reading all your comments, this story is changing again. **

**I had expected a huge backlash from the last chapter. I expected fire and brimstone. But I received something different altogether; I received accolades and encouragement. Because of this, I am catering to your lovely comments and it should be interesting to see where this story goes now!  
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**As always, thank you all!  
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**-June  
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><p>"Stop moping."<p>

I narrow my eyes at the window and sigh. "I'm not moping."

Mark turns the radio down, "You are moping. You've been moping for two weeks."

"I'm not moping," I repeat.

"Dude, you're like one tear away from being the lead singer of an emo band with your incessant moping." I turn and glare at Mark. He has a shit-eating grin on his face. "All you need is a guitar on your lap—with which you only play two chords—and rain streaking down the window."

I turn away from Mark before I smack him. "You're a fucking asshole."

Mark swerves erratically through traffic. I hate when he drives. "I'm looking out for you. You know the second your sisters see your mopey face, they're going to throw fits. They'll ask you a million questions and Nancy will accuse you are ruining her second wedding."

"Please don't mention the fact that this is Nancy's second wedding. That'll _really _start them in on us."

It's been six years since all the Shepherd children have been in one place, and if I remember our previous family functions well enough, I know that my sisters feel the need to dote on me—especially Kathleen, Nancy, and Sophia. Amelia, being the baby, doesn't expect too much of me, but she does require my advice more often than I would have thought possible. Sophia was always my protector and as soon as she moved at eighteen, that bond seemed to have broken.

I haven't heard from Sophia in six years. No one has, until she RSVP'd to Nancy's wedding.

I have no idea what to expect of my long lost sister, but if things weren't already crazy enough, now I have to catch her up on the last six years while avoiding discussing the last month.

It's June now, and Meredith has been gone for more than two weeks. I keep going to work like I'm supposed to, but everything else has fallen by the wayside. Originally, I had promised Owen that I'd go to his parents' house in Rhode Island the first weekend of June, but I never called him back. Sara, my near-hookup from a few weeks back, called me twice to hang out. I ignored her. If not for this wedding, I probably would have continued ignoring my family's and Mark's calls. But if I missed this wedding, Nancy would never speak to me again.

I guess things could be worse…

Either way, I haven't really been an active participant in the world. I can't though, not when I have no idea how Meredith is.

"Seeing Sophia will be weird, right?" Mark asks, effectively drawing me away from my typical 'worry about Meredith' loop.

The exit for New Canaan grows nearer and I feel my stomach flip. "I think it'll be weird," Mark confirms.

"Of course it'll be weird. I don't even know how to greet her."

"I think a hug would be a good start."

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the warm window. I finally looked up Meredith online after she left. The easiest search was for her Facebook account. She goes by Meredith Elise and blocks almost all information to the public. Her birth date was there—October 11th like she said—and she had liked only one page: Mass MoCA—the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. I never knew she liked art. I stared at her page for a long, long time. Her main picture was of her sitting on the beach. She's wearing a pair of shorts and a white top and her face is turned away from the camera. I wonder who took the picture.

After I bookmarked her Facebook page, I searched her name in Google. The first article to pop up was from _The Boston Globe_. It headlined, "Local World-Renowned Surgeon, Ellis Grey, Searches Desperately for her Missing 17-Year-Old Daughter." I scrolled through the article, which mostly spends time listing Dr. Grey's accolades, but towards the end is a direct quote from Meredith's mother: "Meredith has been struggling since her father's death in 2006, but I never expected her to runaway. If anyone has any information, I'd be happy to compensate you. Please, help me bring my daughter home."

I closed my Google search immediately and decided to not look again. My first thought was of Dr. Grey's sobriety. Had she cleaned up her act since slapping Meredith in March? Had she returned to work? If she was coherent enough, is she back on the right track? Meredith never spent much time explaining how her mother was _before_ her father's death, but maybe she wasn't terrible to her. Maybe it was just because Meredith's dad died that Dr. Grey lost it all.

As we pass the last sign for New Canaan, I see a different sign for Boston. 170 miles. Just over three hours. Three hours, 170 miles, and maybe some of the answers I've been searching for.

"Mark, drive straight."

He turns on his signal to turn off the exit. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Drive to Boston."

"I'm not driving to Boston!"

"Mark, please."

Mark slows towards the exit, but instead of pulling off, he glides into the emergency lane just left of the exit. He scowls at me, "What the fuck are you freaking out about man?"

"Meredith's from Massachusetts."

"Yeah, I know. You told me."

"I read this article last week about her disappearance. Her mom begged for information. Maybe she's sober. Maybe she's better now." I shrug. Even if she is better, it doesn't mean I'd ever be able to find Meredith and it certainly doesn't mean she'd want to return to her mother. "I just think if I saw her, maybe talked to her, I'd be able to convince Meredith to go home. At least I'd know where she is."

"That's _if_ you can find her and _if _you can guarantee Dr. Grey doesn't smack her daughter again."

"That's why I want to meet her. She could be really nice. Alcohol makes some people mean. Remember that girl you dated for a half-second last year? Michelle? She was great when she was sober and a raging bitch when she was drunk. Maybe Dr. Grey just needed to be sober."

Mark sighs and stares longingly at the New Canaan exit. "You still won't be able to find Meredith. She could be in Louisiana by now."

"I have to at least know, Mark. She could show up at any point. I just need to know."

He tightens his hands on the wheel. If Mark decides not to drive me to Boston, I'll call a cab. I can't go home. If I do, my sisters will pounce and I'll never leave. They're going to be pissed either way, but I have to at least try to meet Dr. Grey.

Mark turns his signal on and pulls back into traffic. "We have to be back by tonight. I'm not missing the bachelor party."

I smile and lean back in the seat. "Thanks Mark."

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><p>I don't consider the fact the Dr. Grey might be at home in Ipswich, so I have Mark drive directly to Mass Gen. We're lucky that we're medical students at Colombia, because without that excuse I don't know how we'd convince a staff member to allow us to meet Dr. Grey. However, just because we're med students doesn't mean we'll be allowed anywhere near Dr. Grey and that's <em>if<em> she's even here.

Mark walks in with confidence and I try my best not to be nervous. Meeting Dr. Grey would be a big deal for anyone in our field, but meeting her after knowing such personal details about her life seems impossible.

The receptionist is a young woman, maybe twenty-five, and looks wide-eyed as Mark approaches. He's a great secret weapon. "Hi," he smiles and leans onto the circular desk.

"Can I help you?" She sounds professional, but her eyes skim over his face and chest slowly.

"I certainly hope so," he flirts. "We're medical students, at Colombia," he adds with a smile, "and we're hoping to have a tour of your beautiful hospital. Maybe we could meet some of your doctors. Meeting Dr. Ellis Grey is of particular interest to my friend Derek here." He grabs my shoulders and draws me near. "He's big into general surgery, and he'd love to just shake her hand."

The receptionist's smile falls. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it'd be possible for you to meet Dr. Grey."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Well, she no longer works here. She hasn't, in fact, for a few years. But if you'd like a tour, I'm sure an orderly would be happy to show you some of the hotspots."

"Do you know where Dr. Grey is practicing?"

She shakes her head. "Well, no, but I don't believe she's practicing," she whispers.

I nod. "Yeah, I figured."

"Are you sure you don't have _any_ information on Dr. Grey you'd be willing to provide?" Mark continues to shamelessly flirt.

The receptionist's cheeks grow red. "I'm sorry, but that's all I know. She stopped working here years before I started here."

"Does she still live in Ipswich?" I ask.

"How do you know where she lives?" Her eyes narrow.

Mark claps a hand on my shoulder. "My friend here is very thorough with researching his favorite surgeons. Well, thank you for everything. We'll be going now."

I know she knows more than she's saying—the receptionists always know more, just like the nurses and orderlies do—but I allow Mark to hurry me out the door. I immediately feel stupid for driving all the way here. Meredith told me her mother retired right after her father died four years ago, but I just assumed she had returned. Then again, I haven't read of any big return in any medical journals and if Ellis Grey returned to cutting, the medical world would be in a tizzy.

I slide into Mark's car and close my eyes. How could I be so stupid?

"So, onto Ipswich?"

"Seriously?"

Mark starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. He begins to program Ipswich into the GPS. "It can't be that big of a town, right? We could ask some local where Dr. Grey lives."

"And then what? Knock on her door?"

"Why not? If she's a drunken mess, she might be fun to talk to."

"What happens if she's sober? What happens if she asks us if we know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter?"

Mark pulls north onto the highway. "Do you really think she'll be sober?"

"I don't know what I think." Mark says nothing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't this what a best friend is supposed to do?"

I shrug and turn to face the window. I'm suddenly very tired. I'm tired of worrying about Meredith. I'm tired about worrying that someone might find out about her. I'm tired of wondering when she'll return. I close my eyes and force myself to relax. We'll never find Dr. Grey anyway, so there's no reason to worry.

* * *

><p>The scent of salt in the air from the ocean wakes me up only forty minutes later. Mark drives along the coast and I open my eyes to the tan beaches and pale blue water of the Massachusetts coastline. My phone vibrates in my lap. Nancy. I allow the call to go to voicemail and then I flip through the seven other missed calls. Two from Amelia, three from Nancy, and two from Sophia. My stomach knots thinking of my long lost sister waiting to see me after six years. She'll have to wait a little longer.<p>

"I talked to Nancy," Mark says.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up straight. "How pissed is she?"

"On a scale of one-to-ten? At least fifty-five."

"Shit."

"I told her we had an emergency. She knows we're in Massachusetts and I told her we'd be home by tonight for the rehearsal dinner and bachelor party."

We drive past big homes right on the water. Homes with wrap-around porches and big red shutters. It reminds me of a softer New Canaan, without the pretentious air of being better. "Do you know where you're going?"

"I'm very good at recon. Do you remember that week I worked at my dad's law firm?"

"The one where your phone sign off was: 'Peace out bitches?'"

"Exactly. Well, my dad had me stalk people online for depositions and general bullshit letters, and I used this white pages site. As long as you have a first and last name and a city and state, you can find anyone." Mark smiles. "I found Dr. Grey pretty easily. They technically live in Great Neck. Northridge Road." Mark turns onto a coastal road. "This should be it."

I sit up straight and take in my surroundings. "Mark, what are we going to do when we get there?"

"I think we should tell her the truth."

"What? Are you crazy? Do you want to go to jail for a year for harboring a runaway minor?"

Mark slows in front of a large whitewashed house. The backyard faces the ocean and through the shrubbery surrounding the front yard, I can see the beach. The yard looks well maintained and the beautiful beach house looks brand new. "This can't be it."

"It's the address I found online."

"You don't really expect me to tell her everything, do you?"

Mark cuts the engine and stares at the house. "You probably shouldn't tell her you made out with her daughter."

"Mark," I sigh.

He smirks and then turns serious. "Tell her you met Meredith. Make up a lie that you met at a party and you had no idea who she was. You guys hung out a few times, she admitted who she was, and she left. Maybe if we give her information, she'll give us information back."

"I don't even know what kind of information I need from her."

"Don't you want to know if she's decent enough for Meredith to live with again?"

Day and night I've thought about Meredith's safety. I sit up at night and wonder where she'd be safest. My apartment seems like the best option, but in the back of my mind, I've wondered if being back with her mother might be better. Yes, she's been horrible to Meredith, but maybe it was the alcohol perpetuating her actions. I can't help but wonder if the best place in the world for Meredith is back with her mother so they can both heal.

And then I remember her sadness on the roof. I remember her tears as she spoke of her father and her previous stories of her youth never including her mother. Maybe Meredith and Ellis never had a good relationship.

My phone rings again in my lap. Sophia.

"You should probably answer that."

"What do I even say?"

"Hello should suffice."

With a sigh, I open the passenger side door and slide from the car. Outside is too hot in the summer sun, but I don't need an audience. "Hey Soph," I greet before the call turns to voicemail.

"_Derek,"_ she sighs with relief. She sounds the same. Almost the same. Instantly I feel like I'm thirteen again and she's explaining the merits of a first crush. _"Where are you? Nancy is freaking out!"_

"I'm in Massachusetts with Mark. We have some business up here. We'll be leaving soon."

"_Was today really the day to drive three hours north to finish up some business?"_

I lean against the trunk of the car and smile. Sophia sounds _exactly_ the same. "Is today really the day for you to scold me? After all, I haven't seen you in six years," I tease.

"_Mom showed me a picture of you. You look exactly the same."_

"Take it back! I am much less awkward now."

Sophia laughs,"_Well, get your ass home and prove it to me."_

"I'll leave as soon as I can. I promise I'll be home tonight."

"_I've missed you, Derek,"_ she sighs.

I smile. Despite the time away, I've never stopped missing Sophia. "I love you. I'll see you later."

With a final goodbye, I hang up the phone and slide it into my pocket. For a second I forget why I'm here—standing outside this house—on the Massachusetts coast. And then I remember Meredith and her mother and I focus on the home they've spent the last decade in. I try to imagine Meredith running through the backyard and to the warm sand. I try to imagine her swinging below the wide oak tree that occupies most of the front yard. I try to imagine her blowing bubbles from an upstairs window and playing hopscotch on the driveway. But my images of Meredith fall short. I can't imagine her truly growing up here.

I walk back along the car and lean through the window. "I don't think this is the right house. It doesn't feel like Meredith would have grown up here."

"Meredith? Did you say Meredith?" a hurried voice asks behind me.

Ellis Grey stands on the well-manicured lawn behind me. I know it's her from the various journal articles I've read on her, but I also know it's her because Meredith is a dead ringer for her mother. Ellis looks tired and aged, but her eyes are wild with hope. Mark's door opens and closes and we both regard the concerned mother in front of us.

"My daughter, Meredith Grey, is that who you were talking about?"

I can see the orange jumpsuit and steel bars of the prison now. _"It's three-to-twelve months in jail and up to a one-thousand dollar fine. You should care about that," _Meredith told me before she left. At the time it seemed like nothing, but now it seems like a huge price to pay—especially since Meredith is no longer under my roof. I wonder if I can still be penalized if I let her go.

_Of course you can, idiot_.

But how can I stand here and lie to Meredith's mom when she looks so desperate for information?

"Yes, we know your daughter," Mark says before I can really mull of the consequences.

Ellis drops the garden hose I hadn't even noticed before now and moves closer to Mark. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine." I meet Mark's gaze. He nods once, probably to let me know it's going to be okay. It doesn't feel like it'll be okay. "We met her in New York City. She left a couple of weeks back."

"What was she doing in New York?"

Mark shrugs, "Living. Moving on. I'm not sure. She didn't tell us much."

"She said she hadn't been to New York in years. She wanted to visit," I add, despite the fact that I should just keep my mouth shut.

Ellis turns to me. "And she's gone now?"

I nod, "Yes."

"Did she send you with a message?"

I begin to shake my head, but Mark cuts me off, "Yes. She sent us here to let you know that she's okay and you needn't worry about her."

"That's it? She didn't say anything else?"

Something inside me snaps. After everything Meredith has been through, for her mother to expect so much of her makes my blood boil. "What more can you expect of her? After everything you did to her?" I snap.

"Derek…" Mark warns.

I wonder if he really should have said my name. Nothing I can do about it now.

Ellis's eyes darken and she steps towards me. "I don't know what my daughter told you about me, but you shouldn't always believe a teenager. They tend to be liars."

"So you're not a drunk who hit her daughter?"

"Derek, lay off," Mark warns me again. "Dr. Grey, I'm really sorry."

"Is that what she told you?" She laughs quietly without humor. "Well, what else would I expect from her? I've never hit Meredith in my life and my last drink was when I was in medical school. Meredith, on the other hand, isn't as innocent as she probably told you. And I'm not the villain in this story."

I shake my head, trying to disperse the negative thoughts about Meredith. "She wouldn't lie to me."

"And how do you know that? How long did you actually spend with my daughter before you decided to hate me? I don't know you and you don't know me, but I can assure you that I never hurt my daughter." Ellis kicks the hose aside and heads toward her front door. She stops halfway and faces me again. "I hate to break it to you, kid, but my daughter manipulates everyone she meets. Clearly, she manipulated you and told you lies. I wouldn't be so sure as to trust her."

Because I'm not one to give away the last word, I ask, "So she lied about your husband committing suicide, too?"

Ellis's eyes narrow again and I watch her hands slide into fists. "You know nothing about her father. I'm going inside now. When I look out my window in two minutes, if you're still parked here, I'm calling the police."

The front door slams shut behind her and Mark opens the driver's side door. "You're an asshole."

I don't try to defend myself or my actions. I don't try to repair what I just broke. All I can think about is Ellis's claims. Meredith didn't lie to me. She couldn't have. When she cried on the rooftop, those tears were real. Her mother is a drunk and her father is dead. Why else would she have run? She's not stupid; in fact, she's extremely intelligent. An extremely intelligent girl wouldn't run from her home unless she had a really good reason.

Or would she?


	11. Chapter 11

**I am blown away by the wonderful response I've had for not only the last few chapters, but this story as a whole. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! And even more mind blowing is this story is read in all corners of the world: Estonia, Malaysia, Iceland, Romania, Georgia, Malta, Bulgaria, New Zealand, Sweden, Brazil, and many, many more! It's truly amazing!**

**Thank you all so very much!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Mark doesn't talk to me until we pull onto the highway. I almost hope he doesn't talk to me at all. I don't want to face the reality that Dr. Grey is right about Meredith and that she lied to me for weeks. I don't want to have to fish through the stories she told me to find the right one. And I certainly don't want to discuss my feelings about everything because I don't know how to feel.<p>

When Mark does talk to me, I know he's pissed. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

"Hey, don't snap at me. You practically _attacked_ Ellis Grey on her own goddamn property. I'm sorry she told you shit you didn't think to realize, but I didn't ask to be dragged into this."

"First of all, fuck you. You volunteered to drive me here. Second of all, I didn't attack her and I was standing in the street. Do you actually believe what she said?"

Mark speeds down the highway and I think about the dozen or more times I've told him to drive slower.

"You're kidding me, right? Are you actually insinuating Ellis Grey lied to you?"

"Of course I am. We don't even know her. She probably made it all up to make herself look better."

"Oh, and because you made out with Meredith for two seconds once, you know her so well? You know, I thought this shit was idiotic from the beginning. What did you think would happen when you board a hot, underage runaway in your house? Did you really believe she would be as innocent as pie and forthcoming with her past? If you did you're a fucking idiot. That girl was fucked up when you met her and she's since fucked you up."

I press my shaking hands underneath my thighs. "I don't know what you're talking about, but would you please slow the fuck down."

Mark doesn't release the accelerator even a millimeter. "No, you just don't want to _believe_ what I'm talking about. Meredith showed up with her hips swaying and her lips pouted and you fell onto your knees. You gave that girl everything. She played you like a chump. And now you're pissed because your perfect vision of the hot runaway is scathed. I should have kept my distance, but I didn't want to see you fuck up your entire life. Little did I know, you'd still do it on my watch."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You spent five hours with her—I spent almost two weeks with her! Meredith might not have been truthful the whole time, but she finally told me the truth before she left. How else do you explain Dr. Ellis Grey—THE Dr. Ellis Grey—no longer practicing medicine? She's a drunk and abused her daughter. If you don't believe Meredith, you're just as bad as doctor not believing that a victim has been raped."

"Yeah, and no woman has ever lied about that before. You really are naïve sometimes Derek. It's fucking shocking that you've made it in New York so long."

I want to hit Mark so badly it hurts.

"Pull over," I command.

"Last time you forced my hand in this car I ended up in fucking Boston. I'm not playing your games anymore Shepherd."

Mark's driving upwards of ninety miles per hour. "Pull over the fucking car. I can't stand being in here with you any longer."

He must not want me around either, because Mark pulls off quickly and I slam my way out of the passenger side. I could call one of my sisters to pick me up, but I'm not even to Boston yet. I'll have to catch a cab. It'll cost me at least $1,000. Mark's door slams as well and he follows me to the guard rail.

"Do you really believe Meredith was honest with you?" his tone screams disbelief.

"Of course I do."

Mark nods and I see a smug smile on his mouth. "So when she left, did she tell you where she was going?"

My phone goes in and out of service. I'm going to have to walk until I can find enough bars. "No, she didn't tell me, but she wouldn't anyway. That's the point. She didn't want anyone to know."

"She told me."

I glare at Mark. "You're lying."

"When have I ever lied to you? But that bitch lied to you from the beginning. She's going to Andy's place in Virginia."

"Andy?"

"Yeah, remember Andy Stark from high school? The kid that ran away when we were freshman?" I barely remembered Andy Stark, but I do remember the town being up in arms about his disappearance. "He started an underground railroad of sorts for runaways. He keeps them safe until they turn eighteen. I told Meredith about it."

I shake my head. "Why would you do that? She could have stayed with me in New York."

"She was never going to stay, man. And when we bought supplies for our beach picnic, she confirmed that to me. She told me to make sure you didn't go after her. She said she'd be heading south. I mentioned Andy's place and got her in contact with him. He called me the a few days after she left here to let me know she's safe and seemingly happy."

"So you've known for almost two weeks that she's okay and you didn't think to tell me that?"

Mark runs his hand through his hair. "Look, you're obsessed. You're not thinking and worse, you're letting some girl get the best of you. Meredith's a liar and she used you for your apartment, food, and attention. I think you should move on. Get back to your life."

"You can go now. I'll take a taxi home." I turn away from Mark and try to find service again.

"You'll never make it home on time."

"I don't fucking care about that. Right now, all I care about is not being anywhere near you."

Mark rolls his eyes and checks his watch. "Let me drive you home."

"No." I finally find service and dial information.

"You're being really immature. Shit's not going your way so what, you're just going to shut me out?"

"No Mark, I'm not shutting you because shit isn't going my way. I'm shutting you out because you've acted like a dick. You're meddling in shit that doesn't concern you and you're fucking with people's lives. I might have known Meredith for a short time, but I believe her. I have no reason _not_ to believe her. You," I jab my finger at him, "on the other hand have been lying to me for weeks. So no, Mark, I'm not shutting you out; I'm cutting you the fuck off. Don't come to my sister's wedding. And don't bother calling me."

Mark stands silent for a minute and then nods. "Have fun time getting home."

I watch as Mark's car pulls from the emergency lane and into traffic. He drives away, leaving me on the side of the highway, without even glancing in his rearview mirror.

* * *

><p>"I know, I'm sorry Nancy," I say for the hundredth time.<p>

In the three miles it took me to finally exit the highway, I thought a lot about what Meredith told me and what Ellis and Mark said. I tried to remember every story Meredith told me about her mom, and besides her confession that her mother was a drunk, she only mentioned her mom once—when she told me about their vacation to Florida. And even then, she didn't paint Ellis in a great light. Meredith had no reason to lie to me and Ellis has every reason if she's trying to cover up her missteps along the way. But despite my overall confusion about the Grey women, Mark dumbfounds me even more. I'm glad I didn't punch him, but the desire is still there. He had no right to say anything to me. And to keep such an important piece of information hidden like a fucking hoarder is inexcusable. If I see him at Nancy's wedding, I can't guarantee I'll keep my fists to myself.

Nancy is pissed, of course. The cab is taking forever and company already promised it will be well over $500 to drive me home. I don't care. If I have one thing I don't have to worry about, its money.

"_I just don't get what business you could possibly be doing in Massachusetts,"_ she sighs. I can imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

The gas station I wait at for the cab is filthy and depressing. Maybe I should have ridden with Mark.

"It was more personal than business, honestly," I admit.

"_Please Derek Christopher Shepherd, please do not tell me you went all the way to Boston for a girl!"_

My face reddens and I'm lucky she can't see me.

"_He went to Boston for a girl?" _Kathleen yells in the background. I hear a slight shuffle and then my oldest sister's voice feeds through the phone. _"If you went to Boston to find a girl, I will murder you Derek!"_

"_The rehearsal dinner is in less than two hours!"_ Nancy yells. I can hear her voice ricocheting off glassware.

A very uncomfortable looking cab pulls hesitantly into the gas station and I flag the driver down before he decides to bolt. "Look, I'm going to be late for the dinner, but I'll be there as soon as possible. Tell Nancy to relax and have a glass of wine. I'll see you all soon. Love you Kath."

"_Derek—"_ she begins.

I hang up the phone before another word.

"You called a taxi?" a particularly gruff, unshaven man asks me from the front seat. The interior stinks of stale chips and cigarettes. My stomach turns.

"Yeah. Can you take me to New Canaan?"

He laughs and shakes his head, "It'll be seven hundred, flat rate."

I know he's scamming me, but I have no other option. "That's fine."

"All cash, buddy."

I climb into the backseat and roll down the window manually. "I've got cash. Just drive."

* * *

><p>My parents' house is lit up like a Christmas tree as the cab pulls into the driveway. The wedding is being held in the backyard at exactly four tomorrow afternoon, and I can tell my parents made sure the gardener paid extra attention to the yard; everything is in full bloom and perfectly preened. I'm sure, by now, the guest rooms are ready for Matt's—Nancy's future husband's—parents and sister. Mom has probably planned the best spread for breakfast tomorrow and has probably arranged for all guests staying the weekend to take a tour just off the coast on our boat.<p>

"Jesus," the driver says. "You weren't kidding when you said you've got the cash."

I pull seven one-hundred dollar bills from my wallet and hand them through the window. "My parents are rich; I'm not."

"Says the man doling out seven hundred bucks."

"Thanks man," I nod and slide out of the cab. I can smell cigarette smoke on my skin and clothes.

I desperately need to shower, but I can already hear the wedding party and parents having dinner on the back patio. My watch tells me I'm over an hour late. I remember, briefly, that Mark has my stuff in his car—including my tuxedo—so I have nothing to wear for the rest of the weekend.

Life honestly can't get any shittier.

Before even contemplating joining the party out back, I need to use the bathroom and wash my arms from the stench of the cab. The house smells of chocolate and I can hear someone rustling around in the kitchen. Fearful to run into one of my hostile sisters, I climb upstairs and duck into my childhood bedroom.

My mom overhauled all our rooms after we left—and already has plans for Amelia's. I removed all my posters and most of the personal belongings—leaving kiddy league metals and trophies and some old textbooks from high school. My room has since been painted a light green and outfitted with a king sized bed. It's the furthest room from my parents' room, so it's the main guest bedroom. It also has two bathrooms: one with a tub and the other with a shower. In high school, when I came home drunk after a party, I always used the tub bathroom when I'd regularly use the shower one. I never figured out why I flipped after a few drinks.

But with our changed rooms, and the sheer, unnecessary size of our house, I've never quite felt at home here.

I turn on the bedroom light and sitting in the middle of the the bed is the tuxedo and weekend bags. On top is a note. All it says is, _Call me, man._

I'm distracted by my anger for Mark dissipating and I don't realize someone has stepped into the room behind me. "So…" her voice makes me turn instantly, "we'll get a reaction from your returned luggage, but not the return of your sister."

"Sophia," I smile and take in the sight of my now 24-year-old sister. She looks just as she did six years ago with just a few more freckles across her nose. I cross the room and pull her into a huge. "God it's good to see you."

She wraps her arms around me and I realize how much I've missed her. "You've grown up so much. I guess I retract my statement that you looked the same."

"Thank you," I say against her hair and pull back to observe her at arm's length. "God, you look great. What's in the waters off Scotland: the fountain of youth?"

Sophia swats my hands away and smiles. "I'm not living in Scotland anymore. I live in London now."

"Fancy," I say followed by a whistle. "And what are you doing these days? Are you one of those castle guards that wear the funny hats?"

"We have plenty of time to talk about me later. What about you? Why are you sneaking around up here?"

"My cab ride was less than enjoyable and I don't really want to bear the wrath of Nancy while smelling like a pack-a-day smoker."

Sophia leans in and sniffs my shirt. She scrunches her nose, "You stink."

"Told ya," I roll my eyes. "How pissed is she anyway?"

"You know Nancy, she's angry for about five minutes and then she gets over it."

"So she's not mad at me?"

Sophia laughs, "Oh no, she's royally pissed off, but she's had a bit too much to drink and I think she's forgotten to be mad at you. Wait until tomorrow, when the alcohol clears; she'll be rightfully pissed."

I open my weekend bag with a sigh. "I couldn't get here any faster."

Sophia sits on the edge of the bed. "If I understand it correctly, you and Mark were at the New Canaan exit hours ago." I choose to say nothing. Sophia continues, "Did you really go all the way to Boston for a girl?"

"Did Mark say that?" I snap.

"No, Nancy and Kath did, but you pretty much just confirmed it." I meet her blue eyes. "What's going on? Was she your date?"

I laugh bitterly. She wasn't my date. In fact, I don't know _who_ she is. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Sophia pushes. "I might have been absent for a long time, but I still know when you're hurting. What happened?"

With a sigh I sit beside my sister. I was wrong before; she looks completely different. She looks amazing, of course, but she's grown older and wiser and it shows across her face. I toss my arm around her shoulders and draw her near. "Why don't we talk about you, okay? I have a feeling you're not sticking around for all that long and I feel like I won't have any time like the present."

"Everyone wants to know all about me," she sighs and fiddles with the hem of her skirt.

"Well," I draw her even nearer, "you're the one who's been off globetrotting for years. Come on, seriously, tell me about your life."

Sophia drops her hem and meets my eyes, "I have a three-year-old daughter named Brynn."

My arm skids down her back to come to rest on the comforter beside my hip. I stare at my sister—my lovely, free-spirited sister—and I try to imagine her with a daughter on her arm. I've never had a problem picturing Kathleen and Nancy with children, years before they ever married; even Amelia having children one days seems normal, but I've never once imagined Sophia would allow herself to be tied down by a children.

"She's beautiful," she continues. "She looks like her father, Max."

I continue to stare wide-eyed without words.

"He's a good guy, Derek. We met in Scotland. He was spending his holiday from Kings College in Scotland. He went back to London after two weeks north, and I found out I was pregnant a few months later. Brynn wasn't planned, but she's loved. Max is wonderful with her and we've been together ever since. We're thinking of getting married," she shrugs. With a sigh, she takes my left hand, "Are you freaking out? Mom and Dad freaked out and I don't know if I can handle anymore yelling tonight."

"Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?"

Sophia squeezes my palm, "I didn't know what was going to happen. I wasn't sure how Max was going to react and I didn't want to unload all this onto my family without all the answers."

"And after Brynn was born… Why didn't you call then? Why didn't you call after Max decided to stand by you?"

"So much time had passed. It seemed… I don't know, strange I guess, to have not had told you sooner."

I tug my hand from hers and use it to drag through my hair. "But you just told me you _decided_ to not tell us sooner. I've had a niece for three years and you're just getting around to telling me now?"

"It wasn't easy, Derek. Max and I struggled a lot in the beginning. We were young and we were barely making it. I was embarrassed. Haven't you ever been embarrassed and kept a secret before?"

I've been keeping Meredith a secret for weeks. And until I berated her mother on her own property, I'd never felt embarrassed. But my imagination ran from me and I created a fantasy in my head; I needed to know who Ellis Grey really was. And I walked away like a dog with his tail between his legs. But my secret isn't nearly as bad as Sophia's.

Even so, I'm finding it hard to really be mad at her when I feel the joy of being an uncle all over again. "Is she in London with her father?"

Sophia shakes her head, "No, she's here. So's Max." She smiles slightly. "I'd like you to meet them."

And with those words, the sins of my sister's past are washed away. She's kept secrets and told lies, but she's still my sister. And I still love her.

* * *

><p>After the rehearsal dinner, of which I missed the entire dinner, and meeting Brynn and Max—both of whom are amazing and perfect for Sophia—the children are tucked away, my parents retire to their room, and I'm left with my siblings and their significant others. I've never felt much like an outsider before, but as Kathleen nestles up against Hank, and Nancy sneaks kisses along Matt's jaw, and Sophia runs her hand across Max's knee, and even little Amelia folds herself into Will's lap, I feel completely and utterly alone. No, I feel lonely.<p>

I want that. I want the casual touches and the pointed glances. I want the soft, warm kisses and the chance to sneak grazes and pets when I think no one is looking. I want a woman on my arm that my family knows and loves. I want to have someone to dance with at the wedding; someone besides my mom and sisters.

"Mom was acting weird tonight, wasn't she?" Amelia asks. She's always been the boldest of any of us.

Kathleen draws herself away from Hank and nearly glares at her youngest sister. "She seemed fine to me." I can see her growing defensive.

"I think she seemed a little weird," Sophia offered.

Amelia narrows her eyes. She hasn't been as forgiving of Sophia. "And how would you know?"

"Amy," I glare. She turns away from me.

"I'm just saying she hasn't been around in nearly a decade. How would she know when Mom's acting weird or not?"

"There's no need to exaggerate, Amelia," Nancy reprimands her. "Six years is not almost a decade."

"No, but it's a long ass time for her to be gone, only to return and start pretending to understand us."

Sophia looks at Max and then leans forward in her chair. She tries to catch Amelia's eye. "I'm sorry you're mad at me. I understand your feelings, but I was around for eighteen years. I know Mom's emotions just as well as you do." Amelia refuses to even acknowledge Sophia. "Amy, I'm—"

"Don't call me that!" she snaps and stands up. "You abandoned us with nothing besides a stupid goodbye note! You got knocked up, but didn't bother telling us, _your family_, that we had another niece! Another grandkid! I'm not going to sit here with the rest of you and pretend its fine. It's not fine. And I won't listen to you pretending to know us. You don't know anything!" Amelia storms off towards the house.

Will starts after her and smiles sadly, "She's not dealing well. She'll come around," he offers kindly to Sophia.

Nancy takes pity on Sophia, "You know Amelia. She's dramatic. She'll forgive you."

Sophia stares at her feet, but I can see that her eyelashes are wet. "I don't know her though. I left when she was twelve. She was just becoming a person and I left." Sophia wipes at her eyes, "Excuse me."

The rest of us are quiet for a few moments until Max stands. "Are you family events always so dramatic? I mean, the wedding hasn't even happened yet and it's like a global meltdown," he smirks.

I find myself laughing, quickly followed by my remaining sisters and their significant others. Max bows and points to the house, "I'll be following her now. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Good night," we call upon his retreat.

Nancy and Matt seem to already be on their honeymoon, but Nancy distracts herself long enough to focus on me. "You've been quiet lately. What have you been up to?"

"Yeah," Kathleen slides into the conversation, "and where did you really go today?"

"I went to Boston. Mark already told you that."

"For 'business,'" Nancy says with air quotes. "You're med students. What business could you possibly have in Boston?"

I scrub my hand along my face. "We went to Mass Gen."

"Why?" Kathleen hounds me.

"Why does it matter?" Hank asks. I've always liked him.

Kathleen draws away from him, "Because, he's lying. He should tell the truth."

Hank shakes his head, "And ganging up on him and dragging details from him is a good way? If Derek has secrets to keep, we should respect that. As long as it's not illegal," he stares at me, waiting for an answer; I shake my head. "Well, then we're good."

"So you think its okay that he's lying?"

"Sophia lied and you're not harassing her with twenty-one questions."

"She had a good reason for lying," Nancy defends.

Hank smiles and shakes his head. "You two are crazy, you know that?" he looks between Kathleen and Nancy. "You have no idea what Derek was doing in Boston. Maybe he was asked to visit Mass Gen. Or maybe he did follow some girl up there. Either way, you're not going to believe him, but you automatically believe and trust Sophia again." Hank sighs, "It's really insane this double standard you have against you brother."

Kathleen and Nancy sit dumbstruck.

I lift my beer to Hank, "Nicely put."

He clinks his beer to mine, "We gotta stick together."

"I'm hoping you found the girl," Matt pipes in. I'm sure he finds very little quiet time around Nancy to speak at all, so he takes his chance.

I roll my eyes. "There's no girl." But then I realize maybe telling my sisters _some _of the truth will be beneficial to me. "I went to Mass Gen to speak to Dr. Grey."

Kathleen starts first, "Ellis Grey?" she asks incredulously.

"The very same. Why?"

Nancy and Kathleen laugh in tandem. "How were you even allowed into the pre-med program? Ellis Grey hasn't practiced medicine in years. She stopped right around the time Kathleen started her internship."

"Why doesn't she practice?"

"There are a lot of rumors. Mal-practice, combative with co-workers, shifting money illegally through an insider in the accounting department. My favorite might be that she tried to remove a man's leg for no apparent reason, was discovered by the chief halfway through sawing it off, and was fired on the spot," Kathleen laughs.

"She's coming back, though," Matt chimes in. He works besides Nancy at Cedar Sinai and he's the son of Colombia's Chief. He knows everything. "She'll be attending the National Convention in DC this year."

"She will?" Nancy gasps. "You didn't tell me that!"

"You're cardio, why would you care about a general conference?"

"It's Ellis Grey, Matt, of course I care! Are you going?"

He shrugs, "I wasn't planning on it."

"Well plan on it. Talk to your dad," she demands.

"I'd like to go, too," Kathleen smiles sweetly. She's very good at making things go her way. "You can watch the kids for a few days, right love?" she asks Hank. He works on Wall Street and rarely cares about our medical talk.

He nods, "Sure." Scratch that. Hank _never_ cares about the medical talk.

"Can I go?" Everyone, except Hank, shoots me a look. Maybe I could try to speak to Ellis again. "I'm thinking of going into general and to hear Ellis Grey talk would really help me advance before med school."

Matt offers me a grin, "I'll see what I can do."

Whatever the reason my family thinks I want to go, they're wrong. And the _lie_ of it all, makes the promise of the DC conference that much more appealing. All I need is a few minutes with Ellis Grey and maybe she'll be persuaded to elaborate on her misgivings about her daughter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Happy belated Independence Day to all those who celebrate! Sorry for the delay. I was in Jamaica!**

**Thank you for your lovely reviews! Enjoy!  
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><p>Nancy looks happy. She looks happier than I've seen in a long, long time. Everyone tosses rose petals in the air as Nancy and Matt walk down the steps of the church and into the waiting limousine. My sisters all wear bridesmaid's dresses—purple with big flowers pinned to the waist. Kathleen is the Matron of Honor and wears a slightly darker shade. They're all happy as well. Happy for Nancy. Happy that the ceremony is a success. Happy—probably happiest—that the wrath of pre-wedding Nancy is over.<p>

The rest of the bridal party, myself included, follows behind the limo in town cars. I ride with Sophia and Brynn, who wears a pink dress. She looks so much like Sophia, it's unbelievable. Her eyes are the most brilliant blue and her dark hair falls straight along her shoulders. She is a ball of energy and nothing can pin her down—not even a seatbelt.

"Mum," she whines with just the hint of an English accent. She pulls at the buckle.

Sophia folds her hands over her daughter's, "Stop that, Bunny. We'll be there soon."

I smile, "Bunny?"

"We called her Brynny for so long, but she always thought we were saying bunny." She shrugs, "What can you do? She barely responds to anything else."

"Hey Bunny," I say. Brynn's little face turns up to me. "Do you know who I am?"

I spent time with Brynn, Sophia, and Max the night before, but Brynn was preoccupied with chasing fireflies through the back meadow, she hardly stopped once. Even when her dad scooped her up for bed, she wiggled and reached for more bugs.

Brynn buries her head into her mom's side, but nods anyway.

I touch her knee and smile. "Who am I?"

Brynn is minorly distracted by a butterfly coasting past the window, but then returns to me. "Uncle."

"Uncle who, Bunny?" Sophia prompts.

"Derek," she says with perfect clarity.

I smile wider and sweep my fingers through her hair. "She's a smart one."

Sophia squeezes her daughter tightly to her size. "It's crazy to think I was your age when I had her. I'm sure you go out every night and wake up in a different bed every morning. I was like that." Brynn blinks her heavy eyelids and yawns against Sophia's skirt. "Then reality sank in."

"It's a good reality though, right?"

She nods, "Oh yeah, for sure. I'm happy where I am now. What about you?"

"I'm happy." I can barely convince myself.

Sophia laughs without humor. "Derek, I love you, but you're a terrible liar. Something's bugging you."

Ever since I was old enough to understand, I've always consulted Sophia with all my problems. When I was six and Bradley Barker stole my Optimus Prime action figure on the playground, Sophia taught me how to steal something of his and hold it for ransom. When I was nine and I failed my first test in school, Sophia softened the blow with my parents and explained that nearly the entire class had down worse than me. When I was fourteen and caught with two cigarettes in my sock drawer, Sophia took the fall and said they were her boyfriend's. She's always been that rock for me…that person who understands me and has the ability to protect me.

I've never told Sophia anything that she found too scandalous and never has she judged me based on my decisions. Plus, she lives so far away…what damage could telling her really do?

"Who is she?"

I shake my head free of the question.

Sophia continues to stroke Brynn's hair, but she never allows herself to be distracted from her appraisal of me. "Derek, I'm sure whatever's bugging you isn't easy to talk about, but whatever it is, I'm here for you, okay?"

"It's complicated," I finally say.

She nods. "Most things in life are. Especially love."

"I'm not in love," I say abrasively.

"Maybe not," she shrugs, "but someone is affecting you."

I might not love Meredith, but I did love the feeling of kissing her. "I don't really want to get in it with you. With anyone," I correct myself. "She's gone now, so I just need to move on."

"She died?" Sophia asks.

"No, no, nothing like that. She's just moved on. She's living elsewhere."

Sophia smiles, "That's all? That doesn't seem like much of a cause to write her off."

"It's complicated," I reiterate.

"One day it won't be."

"You can't know that."

The town car pulls up in front of my parents' house. Sophia doesn't move and neither do I. "You can never know anything for sure, Derek, but if you care for someone, you'll find a way to make it work. I've never seen you so affected by someone before—you're distant and quiet. At first I thought you'd matured into that person, but I know you too well to actually believe that. This girl, whoever she is, has changed you. And even if she's moved away and moved on, I think you should find her to at least take back that part of you she's taken away."

"I don't feel like she's taken anything from me. I haven't known her long enough for her to change me."

"You're blinded. I was blinded too when I met Max. Nancy is blinded by Matt and Kath is blinded by Hank. Even Amelia is blinded by her boyfriend and they're only high school sweethearts. It doesn't matter how long you know someone, it's how well you know them."

I laugh humorlessly. Isn't that the entire problem?

Sophia takes my hand and squeezes. "You should call her. Talk to her. Try to find what she's taken from you."

"What has Max taken from you?" I ask curiously.

She smiles wide, "Everything."

* * *

><p>I dance with my mother first. She demands my attention on the dance floor and pulls me through the crowd. I hate dancing—have ever since I fell over a table at a school dance in sixth grade. I was the laughing stock of the school for months and even now—almost ten years later—I feel myself growing red at the memory. When I do dance, I have to really love someone—and it <em>has<em> to be a slow song. I can sway side-to-side just as well as anyone else.

My mom smiles up at me in that 'my daughter is finally happy' way, and I can't help but grin back at her.

"How's your summer going, Derek? I feel like we haven't seen or heard from you in weeks."

"I've been busy."

"Busy partying with Mark, I'm sure."

I sigh and try not to roll my eyes. "I haven't been partying with Mark."

"Where is Mark?" she looks over my shoulder.

I nod, "He couldn't make it." I'm still bitter about my fight with Mark, but I wish I hadn't forced him to stay away from the wedding. It would be nice to drink a few beers and watch him hit on some of Amelia's barely legal friends.

"But he stopped by yesterday with your things. Did you two have a fight?"

I smile and twirl my mom out onto the dance floor before pulling her back. She laughs and smiles at me. "Don't worry about Mark and me. We're good."

Mom lays her head on my shoulder and squeezes my middle. "You're my favorite son, you know that, right?"

"I'm your only son," I remind her.

She laughs and we continue to sway. Mom's life changed so vastly when Dad received the money from Ikea, but she's never changed the person she is on the inside. She might dress better and drive a nicer car, but my mom is still the perfectly simple and loving woman she's always been.

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><p>After the buffet dinner, I'm too overwhelmed to pretend attending a wedding is exactly what I'd like to be doing at this moment. So I begin to drink. I start slow—this is my sister's wedding after all. I dance with Sophia and Brynn between beers and then take a turn with both Nancy and Kathleen. By eight, everyone is good and liquored up, so I sneak away from the party to check my phone in my room.<p>

I have three missed calls—two from Mark and one from an unknown number.

I call the unknown first. It rings, and rings, and rings, but no one answers and voicemail doesn't kick in.

Next, I call Mark back.

"_Derek, where have you been?"_ he sounds frantic.

I run my hand along the back of my neck. "My sister's wedding." Duh.

"_Can I come over?"_

"Now's really not a good time, Mark. The reception is supposed to go on until ten."

"_It's about Meredith, man."_

My stomach drops. "Tell me."

"_I'll be over in five minutes."_

In those five, six, seven minutes, I pace the length of my room. I start to sweat so I throw my jacket off and over the edge of the bed. I call the unknown number again and again, knowing it was Meredith who tried to reach me. When I'm not pacing, sweating, and calling, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at a single nick in the wall. Seriously, what could be taking Mark so long? And how does he have information on Meredith? Did she call him too?

I hear his footsteps running up the stairs and I meet him in the hallway. He pushes past me and walks into my room.

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know."

I begin to pace again. "How can you not know? How do you know anything? Did she call you? How did she sound? Is she headed back north? Did she—"

"Fuck man," Mark interrupts me, "calm down. I can't think."

"Just tell me what happened."

"Andy called me this afternoon. He's been away for a few days and came back and Meredith had left. She left a note thanking them for their help, but has decided to head out on her own."

The last two days have been easier knowing Meredith is safe. But now, nothing seems easy.

"There's more."

"More?"

Mark nods, "It's a good thing though. Maybe. Apparently, Meredith was spending a lot of time on Facebook sending messages before she left. Andy allowed her to use his computer and she always forgot to logout. The one day she had three new messages and the next four. He can't change her password without confirming through her email—you know, so you could go on and check, maybe get some clues—but he thought maybe she forgot to sign out of Facebook from your computer as well." Mark shrugs, "You might find out something."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? Even if you learn one little thing, it's better than knowing nothing."

I remember the article I read weeks ago when Ellis begged for information on her daughter. Sometimes, even with the best intentions, you learn things you just really don't want to know.

"What if Ellis is right? What if all Meredith did was lie to me?"

"What if she did? Wouldn't it be better to know now rather than later? Don't you just want the truth?"

I did. I do, more than I can ever express.

I make my decision. "My computer's not here, though. It's in New York."

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Mark and I barrel through my apartment door and I start up my computer. It feels like years while the processing system boots up. Mark sits next to me fidgeting. I tap my fingers on my knee. After much too long, I'm able to bring up Facebook. Both the spots for username and password are empty, but all I need is the first letter of Meredith's email and memory should bring up the rest of the information. I try M and G, but both fail to produce anything besides Mark's email.<p>

"Try her middle name," Mark suggests.

I type E and  .meredith  pops up on the screen. I hit enter and her password fills the empty spot.

"I know you say she's smart, but Meredith is an idiot to forget to clear out her password."

She _is_ an idiot, or maybe she trusted me enough not to look. I hover the mouse over the login button.

Mark grows antsy, "What the fuck?"

"It's wrong. I'm invading her privacy."

"Who cares? She left her password in your computer and has been sending messages to someone. You need to get over this girl and I'm sure there's something in those messages that will help you forget her. So stop being a pussy and login."

Mark's right. Meredith is all I think about—day in and day out. I need to stop worrying about her every single moment. Maybe she's told her friends where she's heading or maybe she's on her way home. She could gossip about using me and other guys along the way. Even if I read something about myself I don't want to know, knowing anything would be a greater relief than being in the dark.

I click login.

She has one new message. I click that first. A page-full of messages load, most of them from Cristina and Izzie. The newest message, though, is from someone named Alex Karev. I open the message. It was sent yesterday morning.

**_M,_**

_**i'll meet you outside DC tomorrow.** _

"Who's Alex?" Mark asks.

I shake my head. "I don't know."

I scroll all the way to the beginning of the train, dated May 28, the Saturday before Meredith left.

**_Where are you? Last I hear you were in Jersey. I'm in NYC and YOU'RE. NOT. HERE. You promised me you'd meet me in NYC. I waited in WSP for you. Almost raped like three times. Fuck Alex. I didn't run here because I want to be in New York. You promised! _**

**_I'm staying with a guy. Let me know when you get this and I'll meet you._**

**_xo_**

I lean back against the couch. "She used me."

"You don't know that." Mark scrolls up to the next message, dated Sunday the 29th.

**_i'm sorry M. i couldn't make it in time. i got held up. Heading to NYC now. Should make it there by wednesday. Where do yu want to go? Vegas? LA?_**

The next message from Meredith, just twenty minutes later:

**_I know a place. Virginia. Meet me in Port Authority, by the flower shop on the 3rd level at 8am. I have bus tickets._**

**_xo_**

"How did she buy bus tickets?" Mark asks. "I thought she had no money."

"She never said she didn't have money. I just assumed." I run my hand through my hair and to the back of my neck. "I don't want to see anymore."

Mark closes my laptop and slides off the arm of the couch next to me. "I'm sorry man."

"I was a fucking truck stop for her. She whirled into my life and fucking used me."

"I don't know what to say," Mark admits. "It sucks."

"You know, I thought I'd be the one to save her. I figured she just needed someone to care; someone who would look out for her. At first that was all it was about—keeping her safe and protected. But it's more than that now. Or it was before I found out she's a lying bitch who used me to keep her safe before her boyfriend came to town." I almost forget Mark's in the room with me. "I have this fantasy that she'll show up again, tell me she was wrong to leave, and I'll keep her guarded until her birthday. And then, it won't matter how old she is and we'll be together. She'll finish school and I'll help her get into any college she wants." I glance at Mark, feeling incredibly stupid. I wait for him to burst out laughing.

"I used to do that with Lexie, before she dumped me," he says sadly. "I used to imagine us going off to college together and going on vacations during spring breaks to Cancun and the Dominican Republic. When it comes to women, it's better for us not to imagine anything. They tend to break your heart."

I wipe my eyes dry and stand up. "Want a beer?"

"Do you need to ask?"

I grab two beers and sit back down next to Mark. "You know the worst part," I take a long draw of my beer. Mark shakes his head. "The very worst part is I believed everything she said. I believed the bullshit about her mom and dad, and I believed her troubled youth story. For all I know her dad is still alive and kicking. Her mom clearly isn't a drunk and I bet she ran away because she wanted to be with some guy her parents didn't approve of. It's fucking _Romeo and Juliet_ all over again with worse lines and some pathetic schmuck left behind in the wake of their love or whatever."

Mark says nothing for a long moment. Finally, he says, "Do you really think she lied about her dad? That's pretty fucking low."

"I have no idea. It just seems likely, after everything she's already lied about. I wonder if she met up with Alex or if she's using some other guy for food and shelter."

"I don't think she only used you for that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

Mark finishes off his beer quickly. "What I mean is: yeah, she used you for shelter and food, but I think she also liked hanging with you." I roll my eyes. "No, hear me out. That day at the beach, you guys hung on every word. She actually seemed to want to be around you."

"So she liked me? So what? It doesn't change the fact that she only used me for her basic needs."

"We all use everyone for something at some point."

I try not to spit out my beer. "Are you drunk? Or are you seriously siding with her right now?"

"I'm _almost_ drunk, but I'm not siding with anyone. I think it's important for you to realize that Meredith might have had an ulterior motive for seeking you out, but she might have actually liked you in the end."

"Whatever," I grumble and finish my beer. "Just yesterday you were berating me for giving a flying fuck about her and today you're siding with her?"

"I think what Meredith did is shitty, and I'm not siding with her. But the fact of the matter is, I hate when you're pissed and upset. If it takes me to play devil's advocate to get you out of your funk, I'll do it."

I smile at Mark, "Aren't you a sensitive son of a bitch."

Mark chuckles and kicks his heels onto my coffee table. "And don't you forget it. Now, get me another beer. If we're going to be analyzing our past relationships all night, I want to be good and drunk."

I grab the empty bottles and meander back into the kitchen.

Mark's phone rings from the living room.

I uncap the beers and stare out my little kitchen window for a second. Out there, somewhere, some other guy is going through exactly what I'm going through. Maybe he's found out his girlfriend has been lying to him for months about her whereabouts during her "Tuesday night yoga classes" or maybe the missing money from some guy's account can only be traced back to his ex-wife. All across the globe, men and women are lying and deceiving each other. Meredith could be lying to Alex right now—denying the kiss on the roof, pretending nothing happened. It's miserable to think Meredith Grey isn't the first, and won't be the last, woman to lie to me.

"Where are you?"

Mark's tone draws me away from the window and back into the living room. His wide eyes move to focus on me. "Do you need help?"

"Who is it?" I whisper.

"Meredith," he mouths back.

I reach for the phone. "Hey, Meredith, Derek wants to talk to you." He waits, "Yeah, okay. Hold on." Mark covers the receiver. "She doesn't sound good man."

"Meredith?"

"_Hi Derek,"_ her voice crackles through the phone. It sounds like she has a bad connection.

"Where are you?"

"_I'm fine. I'm doing okay."_

I pace the length of the living room. "I'm glad you're okay, but _where_ are you?"

"_I left Andy's place yesterday."_

I curl my fingers into a fist. "I know. Andy called Mark. I'm asking where you are Meredith. Are you still in Virginia?"

Static fizzles through the receiver and I pull my ear away until it clears. Meredith's voice kicks back in mid-sentence, _"…but I'll be fine. Andy was great by the way. Tell Mark thanks."_

"I didn't hear what you said. _Where_ are you?"

"_It doesn't matter,"_ she practically shouts loud and clear.

"Of course it matters!" The line is quiet on her end. I check to make sure she didn't hang up on me. My head is fuzzy with alcohol and anger—a dangerous mix. "Who are you with?" I ask like a concerned father. I almost want to kick myself for being so invasive. I have no right.

"_What do you mean? I'm alone."_

I tip my head to the ceiling and take a deep breath. "So Alex Karev isn't with you?"

"Derek…" Mark warns. I shake my head.

"_How do you know about Alex?"_

"It doesn't matter," I say snidely.

For a long moment, Meredith is silent, and then, _"I didn't have to call you, you know. I figured you'd want to know I'm safe, but now I can see that you'd rather I didn't call."_

"Don't be dramatic, Meredith. You're just pissed because I realized you're a liar. Let me just see if I got this straight: you left your parents' house because they don't like your boyfriend Alex."

"Derek, don't be a dick," Mark scolds.

I turn my back to him and walk into my room. "Look, I'm not sorry that I helped you get away from that guy in the alleyway, but if you knew you were meeting your boyfriend a week later, I wouldn't have…" but I have nothing to say. Would I really have left her on the street? Or refused to feed her? Or expected anything other than her thanks? "You shouldn't have let me kiss you."

"_I can see that now! You have no idea what you're talking about. Do you really think I ran away from home because I wanted to be with Alex? This isn't _Romeo and Juliet,_ Derek, this is real life. I told you why I ran."_

"Your mom didn't seem to agree with your story though," I fire back.

"_You've seen my mom? How?"_

I cut to the important part, "Mark and I found your house. Your mom was sober and the house didn't look like an alcoholic had been neglecting it for years. Your mom said you're a liar."

"_You're unbelievable. Do you want the truth? Fine Derek…here it is: I ran away with Alex, but not because he's my boyfriend. Alex is my best friend and he needed me. My mom's an alcoholic and she hit me, so Alex gave me an opportunity to run, so I ran. My mom is also an overbearing control-freak who has my entire life laid out for me like a fucking prize-winning pony. I'm not a show horse and I won't do what she wants just because she says so. So yeah, I left and I met a really great guy in New York, who turned out to be a fucking asshole."_

Despite the conviction in her voice, I still can't believe her. It seems so far-fetched after meeting Ellis. "Meredith, I…" I have no idea what I want to say.

She doesn't let me speak anyway. _"I hope you have a really awesome life, Derek. Enjoy living on your parents' money and drinking to an oblivion with Mark."_

"Alex is not just your friend," I stupidly claim.

"_Is this what all this is about? Are you pissed about Alex and me? Not that it's any of your business, but at one point we weren't just friends. But that's over and I had thought I'd met a great guy and was moving on. Do you realize how hard it was for me to leave? Especially after you kissed me! But I had made a promise to Alex and he's my first priority in all this. I was coming back as soon as I turned eighteen."_ She gasps and it sounds like she's crying. _"I can't believe you ruined this."_

"Why wasn't Alex with you from the start?"

"_Alex was in boarding school in New Jersey. He couldn't leave right away but I could. He promised to meet me the day I first ran into you. But he was detained at school for a senior prank. That's why I stayed with you for so long. He messaged me on Facebook as soon as he got out, so I left. Again, not that any of this is your business."_

"I had no idea. I'm s—"

"_Save it, Derek. I have to go."_

"Just tell me you'll be safe."

"_Nowhere in the world is safer than being with Alex."_

I ignore the dig, "You'll let me know if—" the line cuts out. "Meredith? Meredith?" I try to redial the number she called from, but it comes up unknown. I stare at the useless phone in my hands and try to figure out when I became such an asshole.

"That didn't go over well," Mark says from the doorway.

I stand up and hand him his phone. "I'm going to bed Mark."

"Derek…"

"I can't talk about it Mark. I'll never see her again and it's because I'm a douche bag who couldn't keep his mouth shut. I just want to sleep."

Mark nods, "Alright buddy. Do you need anything?"

"Just turn the lights off on your way out."

I fall down onto my bed face first and hug the pillow around my head. I hear Mark turning all the lights off and walking out my front door. My apartment is too quiet and my brain is too loud. Somehow I've managed to turn Meredith's story into a fairy tale while believing the words of a woman I spent no more than five minutes with. I've run her out of town, without a way to contact her.

Inspiration strikes. Facebook.

I jump out of my bed and grab my laptop in the living room. When I open the screen, Meredith's Facebook is still logged in. I sign out, delete her password for good, and sign into my own. I search for her and type my message out.

**_Meredith,_**

**_I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I'm an asshole. I got wrapped up in everything your mom told me and I allowed it to overwhelm the truth. I can't believe I chose not to trust you, especially after you told me the truth right to my face._**

**_I'm not sure if you'll have a chance to read this, but I am sorry and I don't want this to be the last time I communicate with you. I don't want our friendship to end because I acted on a whim. My apartment is always available to you and Alex if you ever need a place to stay. Again, I'm so sorry._**

**_-Derek_**

**_P.S. You should know I don't plan on living on my parents' money forever and I don't drink nearly as much as I did before I met you._**

I send the message and hope—and pray—that Meredith might see it and forgive me.


	13. Chapter 13

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**Happy Wednesday! **

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><p>The last place in the world I want to be is in Washington DC attending the National Convention; but I practically begged Matt to let me go before the wedding and I can't back out now. It's helpful that Matt's father—Colombia Medical's Chief of Surgery—used the company plane to fly us to DC; it makes the airport and flight experience much more bearable—maybe even tolerable.<p>

Nancy is chatty. She's been married for a month and the sun still rises and sets with Matt, which makes her happy and chatty. Matt receives most of the brunt of Nancy's incessant chatter, but Kathy also puts up with her sister's babble. I listen to my iPod and pretend to sleep.

The general conference is one of the biggest in the world. It's well marketed and all the big names plan to attend. I sign up for three talks the first day, one being with Dr. Ellis Grey—which is set for this afternoon at three. We're all attending that one. The other two, earlier in the day, I'll be attending alone and I've decided to skip the four o'clock with Dr. Ian Shane, the founder of Lives in Our Hands charity. I'd rather hide in my hotel room until dinner—which will be joined by Dr. Matthew Krasner Sr.—Matt's dad.

We ride right to the conference center, leaving our things in the limousine.

Medical conferences are nothing but a chance for geeks who usually wear scrubs to dress up and boast about how proficient they are in their respected fields. Cardio surgeons claim to be gods while brain surgeons claim to be bigger than the universe. It's really just a back scratching event—trying to make yourself look better to everyone else. Because I'm nowhere near even being a doctor, I'm pretty much ignored.

The first two speakers do well and I'm easily engaged. As I sit down for Dr. Grey's talk, I feel myself growing weary. I hope the room fills up enough so she doesn't see me.

The room fills in five minutes and everyone else has to stand. It seems like every single person who attended the conference is making a stop to see Dr. Grey.

She takes the podium and looks just a sober as she had when I saw her before.

Everyone claps.

"Thank you, thank you." She's much more pleasant than she was when I berated her on her front lawn. "I am honored and humbled to have been invited to speak to you all today. It's been too long since I've had the chance to practice medicine and I'm excited to begin rebuilding my career."

A round of applause.

Dr. Grey raises her hand to halt the applause. She smiles. "Just about ten years ago, I had finished my research on the Grey Method and was putting into practice a new way to perform most general surgeries. The Method, which took nearly ten years to perfect, came at a big cost to myself and those I worked with. We paid the price though, and the Method is now practiced in every hospital across the United States and beyond."

Everyone claps and a few people whistle.

"Five years ago, I was working on my second Method. This one would be used to perfect bowel obstructions. My research was halted and for the last five years, all I could think about was returning to medicine. Today, I'm happy to announce I have received a position as the General Attending at Mount Sinai in New York, effective August 1st."

After another round of applause, Dr. Grey begins a slideshow, "I'm now going to explain how this method will help not just General, but all fields of surgery. Slide one, please."

I sit through the next thirty minutes of Dr. Grey explaining her game-changing method and I notice every single person in the room is hanging onto her every word. _I'm_ hanging onto her every word. She's enthralling and engaging. Her work and her method are inspiring and just listening her speak about returning to medicine makes me realize how difficult it must have been when she left. The room feels electric with energy and if not for a disturbance directly to my left, I wouldn't have turned my attention from Ellis Grey.

The girl retreating from the room is familiar. It's not just her hair or profile, but the way she walks—the way she moves.

_Meredith._

I hastily jump up from my chair, causing it to fall backwards, and quickly move to turn it right side up. The entire room is silent. My sisters and brother-in-law are staring at me. I look up at Ellis Grey and her eyes are on me. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I blush. I leave the conference room exactly where Meredith left and hope Dr. Grey didn't recognize me.

The rest of the conference center is littered with people visiting stands and booths. Everyone carries packets under their arms with news on the latest science in modern medicine and drag bags over their arms with diagrams, samples, and free pharmaceutical pens. But I can't see Meredith. She's lost among the crowd. That's _if_ I even saw her.

I walk through the crowd of people and along a row of booths, but even with the fascinating outlying information, I focus my attention on the people around me. Any petit blond woman to walk past me holds my attention for much too long. I find myself following a woman for three rows before I realize she's about forty years old. I walk through a group of younger women and make eye contact with each one, but none of them are her. I even return to the hall Dr. Grey is speaking in, but if Meredith was here, she's long gone.

There's a row of benches outside the convention center. I sit down to wait out the rest of Dr. Grey's talk because I know my sisters and Matt will have a million questions for me. I decide to lie and say I'm sick; it'll explain why I don't want to go out to dinner later and I'll be free to just lie in bed until tomorrow. Maybe I could drag this through tomorrow as well and remain "sick" until our flight in two days.

A man sits down on the bench next to mine. I glance at him, and then close my eyes and lean back against the window.

"You're Derek," he says matter-of-factly.

I open my eyes and appraise him. He must be around my age.

"I'm Alex," he holds out his hand to me. "Alex Karev."

All of a sudden my conversation with Meredith from a month ago comes crashing back down. Alex Karev is Meredith's friend from home. He's her "non-boyfriend" friend and the guy she's traveling with. And Alex is sitting in front of me holding out his hand.

"Alright, not into handshakes," he shrugs and his hand falls onto his lap. "So, I take it you saw Meredith."

"How do you know that?"

Alex smiles, "Because she saw you."

I laugh, but it sounds more like a cough. "Yeah, well, that makes sense. Where did she go?"

"She didn't want her mother to see her, so she booked it."

"How will you find her?"

"Oh, I have a tracker on her. She can't get far." He laughs, but I can only stare at him. "Dude, I'm joking." He shakes his head. "We have a meet up spot if we're separated. I'll meet her there later."

"How long will she wait there?"

Alex shrugs, "For as long as it takes, I guess, but I'm sure she's not going there right away. She needs to cool down. She hasn't seen her mom in months, so it was probably a shock."

"How did she know her mom was here?"

"Meredith doesn't like to admit it, but she's been keeping tabs on her mom since she left. There wasn't much to report in the beginning, besides Ellis asking for help finding Meredith, but after a while she started finding articles about her mom linked to this conference. It's primarily why we were headed down here. She didn't believe that her mom was sober, so she wanted to see for herself." Alex is much more forthcoming than Meredith. "What about you? How did you end up here?"

"My brother-in-law and sisters are doctors. They have connections."

"So you didn't just come here to hear the great Ellis Grey talk about how amazing she is?"

"To be honest, I think that's why everyone is here."

Alex laughs, "True. Plus, everyone wants to know why she stopped practicing for four years. They want the truth."

"What did she tell the medical community?"

"Nothing, as far as I know. After Mer's dad died, Ellis went kind of comatose. She went to work, but she wasn't anything like the doctor everyone knew her to be. Meredith thinks Ellis was asked to leave by the board of directors. I wouldn't be surprised. There are a lot of theories that she botched some surgeries, but I'm not sure if that's true. I think she just gave up on everything."

"It doesn't make sense. This is Ellis Grey we're talking about. She's badass."

"She might be a rock star in the hospital, but Ellis isn't really that person. And I think her husband's death reminded her of her reality—she has a daughter and a house that need taking care of, and she wasn't equipped to take care of either. Meredith has a lot of theories about her mom and I'm sure with some coaxing, she'd fill you in."

"I don't know about that."

Alex relaxes back against the bench and stretches his arms along the top of the seat. "Yeah, she told me about your phone call."

I turn away and stare up at the cloudless sky.

"She's over it now."

"Really?"

"She didn't want to tell you about me because she figured you wouldn't help her. It's survival of the fittest out there and to be honest, Meredith is kind of small; she's not really meant to be on the road."

"Then why didn't you meet up with her sooner?"

"I got in trouble and it was mandatory that I stay. If I didn't, they weren't going to allow me to graduate. I told Meredith she could stay with me, but she didn't want to get me into any more trouble. I figured she'd be okay for a little while. I had no idea that she would bolt from home in March. I had no idea what was going on. That she was almost raped, twice."

I remember the Facebook messages. Alex is telling the truth. Meredith didn't send him a message until she'd been staying with me for nearly a week.

"Everything you did for her…" Alex shakes his head. "Not a lot of people would have done that for her. Most people would have let her get raped and maybe even killed. But not you. I wanted to thank you. Meredith's my family and what you did for her… I could never repay you."

The gratitude Alex extends makes everything I did for Meredith that much more powerful. I hold out my hand to him, "Thanks man. I just couldn't stand her getting hurt."

He smiles and shakes my hand, "Meredith has that effect on people."

"Will you tell me more about her? What was she like before she ran away?"

"I won't but I think it's important for Meredith to tell you the rest of her story. I'm going to head off and try to find her. Want to come?"

I look back to the conference center before nodding. "Yeah, definitely. Let me just tell my sister." I shoot a quick text to Kathleen and follow Alex along the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. I'm glad I found Meredith and was able to help her, but I'm even happier that she's traveling with a guy who truly cares for her and will protect her if the situation arises.

* * *

><p>Alex and I sit at the Lincoln Memorial with our legs stretched out in front of us eating ice cream cones. I hadn't planned on liking Alex, let alone buying us both ice cream, but the day is too hot to sit in the blistering sun without a refresher and Alex is actually a funny guy. He has too many stories about his shitty family for me to count. He entertains me with stories about bad family Christmases where no gifts were purchased and Thanksgivings where his father decided to deep fry the turkey, but wound up exploding the backyard instead—this happened four times. I don't share my family Christmases and Thanksgiving stories, because for the most part, they were all good. We always fight like crazy, but we always have a good meal and plenty of gifts to go around.<p>

Kathy texts me back twenty minutes after Dr. Grey's talk was to end and berates me for leaving so rudely. She demands to know where I am. I ignore her text. I don't know when I'll be back and I've already told her I'll most likely miss dinner. There's no sign of Meredith, but Alex doesn't seem to be worried. He leans back and watches girls in short-shorts visit the monument.

"What are your plans after DC?" I ask, mostly to find out where Meredith will be next.

"I turn eighteen next week, so we can pretty much go anywhere."

"But Meredith will still be only seventeen."

"Yeah, but it won't look as weird for the two of us to be traveling together. I have some money, so we'll be fine until October."

"And then what?"

Alex shrugs, "Meredith's free."

"Doesn't it bother you not having a real plan?"

"I do have a real plan," Alex counters. "Meredith turns eighteen in October. Her trust fund opens then. We're going to live off that money. She'll finish school and I'll go onto college. She'll join me a year later. We'll get jobs and just become normal, regular people."

I glance at Mark. "So your idea of a plan is living off Meredith's money? What happens if Ellis changes the stipulation on the money until Meredith's twenty-one, or god forbid, twenty-five? Then what?"

"She wouldn't."

"I might not know much about Dr. Grey, but she's kind of brilliant. I'd bet my life that she's changed the fund. Plus, how were you thinking you'd access the money? Does Meredith have a debit card or bank slips?"

Alex shrugs, "I don't know. Probably. Fuck man, we'll figure it all out."

I shake my head. "Look, I'm not trying to freak you out, but I care about Meredith's well-being, and it sounds like to me that neither of you have any plan at all. You're planning on a whim."

"You don't know our situation at all. We have it figured out."

"You don't, though. You're putting your faith in money that will never come. And you're dragging Meredith down with you. Does she know about your master plan?"

"She offered the money up for both of us. Fuck. Her inheritance is in the millions. She has money to spare."

"She doesn't have money to spare if the fund doesn't open until she's thirty. This doesn't sound right, Alex. I have a bad feeling that you're both going to get screwed."

Alex tosses a bit of his cone to pigeon, effectively glaring away from me. "What would your plan be, then? Are you going to adopt both of us?" he laughs snidely.

"I have a place for you guys to stay, for now. You can work, save up some money. In the fall Meredith could go to school in the city. It's not ideal, but it's something."

"And what happens when you grow tired of us?"

"I wouldn't. But _if_ that did happen, you'd have advanced warning. I'm not just going to kick you guys out because I'm sick of you. I'd help you find somewhere better. My apartment isn't that big and having three people in there might drive us all insane."

"You're not going to pin me down like that. If Meredith wants to stay with you, that's her own prerogative. The point of all this isn't just to get away from our shitty lives, but also to see the world. To experience things. I've experienced New York. I've seen it. Your offer is generous, but I think I'd rather just hoof it. I might be broke and I might have no idea where I'm going, but at least I'm gone from where I was."

I nod. "I respect that, but don't hold Meredith back. She might be too afraid to stray from you because then she'll be alone, but let her know she has other options."

"Who has other options?" she asks from behind us.

I turn slowly and meet her gray eyes; I can't help but smile.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," Alex laughs and heads down the steps.

I stand.

"Hi."

Meredith smiles, "Hey."

I want to hug her.

I want to kiss her.

Meredith moves first and stands on the step two up from mine; we're close but not touching. She's nearly as tall as me from this vantage point. Without a moment's pause, she reaches out and wraps her arms around my waist. I carelessly throw my arms around her shoulders and pull her closer. It's been six weeks and I've missed her. Her skin smells of flowers and sunlight and she's warm in my arms. Meredith sighs and runs her hands up and down my back. Even after our fight, it seems the relief of seeing one another again is greater than our anger—or, should I say, her anger.

"I can't believe you're here," I say to her.

She pulls away from me and it takes all my strength to let her go. I run my hand along her hair before breaking all contact. "I'm just as surprised to see you, believe me. When I saw you before, I almost had a heart attack. You also very slyly knocked over a chair. Thanks for that," she grins.

I laugh and find myself coloring again. "It was a stupid move, that's for sure. I hope your mom didn't see me."

"Or me!" she shakes her head. "I don't know what she'd do if she knew I was in DC." Meredith pauses and looks across the monument. "She's sober. You were right."

"Do you know any details?"

"No, only that she's sober. The medical world didn't really know she was a drunk, so she's not publicly announcing her sobriety. I saw an interview with her from May and she looked good then. I think she's probably been sober since the end of March or early April—right after I left."

I smile encouragingly, "That's good, though."

"I have a feeling she did it more for the media than me. She knew she'd be front and center with me gone, so she had to clean up. You can't be passed out among fifty vodka bottles if you're supposed to be looking for your runaway daughter."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

I can't do anything but agree with her, because I can't do anything but stare at her. She looks good—almost as good as she did in New York. She's still too thin, but the weight loss doesn't make her look sickly anymore. Her eyes are bright with life and she's happy. I can't turn away from her. She smiles and looks away. I'm embarrassing her, but I don't care.

"Should we go somewhere?" I suggest. Meredith's eyes grow wide. "Dinner? Do you want dinner?"

"Are you asking me on a date?" she asks coyly.

"Would you say yes?"

"Yes, but I'm still mad at you for not believing me."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Meredith."

"It's okay, but you'll have to make it up to me."

"I'll start with dinner, okay?"

Meredith smiles wide, "Okay."

* * *

><p>We sit across from each other at a pizza place just far enough from the mess of people walking along Pennsylvania Avenue. I didn't know any place to take Meredith, but she wanted pizza, so the choice was easily made. DC pizza pales in comparison to NYC pizza.<p>

"How many times should I apologize for our phone call?" I ask. "Just a ballpark figure," I add with a smirk.

Meredith smiles at me and I swear not a day has passed since she left. "Three times. But you have to mean it."

"Does the first one count?" She thinks for a minute and then nods. "Okay, well then, Meredith, I am so very sorry for what I said to you on the phone. I allowed your mom get to me. I should have just trusted you enough to ask _you_ what had happened. I acted like an idiot." Meredith smiles at me and forgives me. "And, because I'm a fan of blatant honesty, I have to admit that I read your Facebook messages with Alex, which is how I knew about him."

"I know."

"You do? How?"

"I figured it out. You knew all about Alex, but there was no way you could know. My mom didn't even know about Alex and the only communication I had with him—or anyone who knows him—was through Facebook. Also, my friend Izzie always puts up stupid statuses on Facebook for me because I never remember to log out. I figured I forgot on your computer too."

"I'm sorry for that. It was really immature."

Meredith shrugs, "If all of a sudden, I thought you had lied to me and the pieces were lining up to confirm that, I'd be pissed too. I'd probably try to figure out anyway to uncover the truth."

"Why are you being so forgiving?"

"Would you rather I not be?"

"Of course not. I just didn't expect it."

Meredith straightens and leans back against the booth. "I don't have a lot of people in my life who care about me. After my dad died, it seemed like everyone I knew who gave a shit about me died with him. I'm not in the position to turn away those who care." She meets my eye. "I suspect you care or you wouldn't have said those things to me. Maybe I'm wrong, but—"

"You're not wrong," I interrupt. "I care."

"And that's why I'm able to forgive you. Because you do care."

I stare across the table at Meredith and I realize I care much more than I ever thought possible. Just two months ago, I didn't even know her, and now she seems like the greatest connection I have to myself. It seems impossible to not have her in my life and not be able to know where she is at any given moment. I can't fathom allowing her to walk away again. Even if I have to board two teenage runaways, I'll do it if it ensures Meredith will remain safe.

Our waiter delivers our pizza, effectively pulling my stare away from hers. Meredith smiles at the proffered pizza. "God, I'm starving."

I hand her the pie server. "Take as much as you want."

And she does. We both do, actually. Meredith and I manage to finish off the entire pie—both of us eating four slices. I'm so full when the waiter finally takes the pizza tray away; I can barely keep my eyes open as I slip into a food coma.

"I haven't eaten that much since the barbecue we had on the beach with Mark."

I laugh, remembering Mark eating more hamburgers and hotdogs than a small army. Meredith wasn't far behind him.

"How is Mark?"

I immediately remember the fight we had on the side of the highway, and then how he helped me after I thought I learned the "truth" about Meredith. "He's good. Just the same as always."

Meredith nods, knowing Mark well enough to realize he's probably boozing and seducing women.

"Alex seems like a good guy."

"Is this the part when you ask me all the details about Alex?"

Meredith is too smart, which I seemed to forget during her six weeks away. I nod, "Yes. Will you tell me anything?"

"Let's go for a walk because the smell of pizza is making me nauseous. Maybe I'll tell you _some_ things."

* * *

><p>We walk along Pennsylvania Avenue and past the White House. I take a picture of Meredith on my phone. It's the first picture I have of her.<p>

"I always hinted I wanted to leave my mom's house. More than hinted—I said it time and time again. Izzie and Cristina wrote it off. Alex knew what I wanted. So while Izzie and Cristina were busy planning their senior year and the following fall at college, Alex and I were figuring out how we could runaway for six months or more without getting caught or dying from exposure or hunger. He had promised to meet me in May when school ended for him, but my mom hit me and I couldn't wait.

"When I left, Alex was a mess. He was so worried for me. He's good like that—playing the older brother card. I had my cell phone back then and he used to text and call every day. But then, I lost my phone and Alex thought I was dead. I called him when I made it to New York, just a few hours before I met you." She smiles slowly. "Even when Alex wasn't here, he was trying to protect me. He's a good guy, Derek. You don't need to worry."

"So what's your plan after DC? Where will you go?"

Meredith shrugs, "I'm not sure. Alex is figuring all that out."

My stomach drops imagining Meredith and Alex blowing through her inheritance. "Alex mentioned something about you two going back to school in the fall?"

"Yeah, maybe. I'll definitely go. I need to finish my degree."

"How would that work? I mean, financially."

"I have money."

I nod, wanting to ask her about her money, knowing the answers. But hedging around the question won't do her any good and I don't know how much time I have before she's gone again. "Alex mentioned your trust fund. The money you'll be using to survive. I'm not sure if you'll actually gain access at eighteen. Your mom could have changed the clause."

"I know."

"You do?"

"I've thought about it. My mom's a brilliant person; it's near impossible that she didn't change the clause."

"Then why are you going through this if the money might not come through?"

"Alex," she shrugs. "What else am I supposed to do?"

I turn and face Meredith, stopping her in her tracks. "Stay with me. Both you and Alex. We'll have you registered at a school in the city, Alex can go to college, and you'll be safe."

"And when I turn eighteen? What happens then? I can't just live with you for the rest of my life Derek."

"Until you get on your feet. You can stay with me and if the money does come through, you leave. If not, you stay."

"That's crazy, Derek."

I shake my head and take hold of her upper arms. "It might have been crazy when I first met you, but I know you now. Just consider it a friend taking care of another friend."

"Friend?" Meredith asks quietly.

"Well, I'm not sure what other definition I have right now."

Meredith reaches up and wraps her fingers around my forearm. Her hand is warm against my skin. All day I've been trying to ignore the thought of her mouth on mine, but it comes rushing back to me now. I remember how desperate we had both been that day and how it had to happen. I needed to kiss her—if only the one time. But now, it seems inevitable that it'll happen again. Our story didn't end on that rooftop; it had just begun.

"Hey!" a voice calls and Meredith steps away.

Alex approaches with his hand waving through the air. "I've been looking for you for hours." Alex smiles at Meredith. "Hey man," he nods at me. "Where have you guys been?"

"We were just catching up." Meredith peeks up at me.

"You wanna hang out a little while longer or—" Alex begins.

"We should go," Meredith nods. She smiles at me.

"Where are you staying?" I ask before they can disappear.

Alex motions behind him, "We set up camp in a park just outside of town. It hasn't been monitored the last few nights, but you have to get in there before dark or they lock the gate."

The sun is just hitting the horizon now.

"You can stay with me," I offer. "I'm staying at the W."

"Whoa big spender!" Alex claps me on the back. "Thanks, but we're good."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" I ask of Meredith more than Alex. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow and I just want to make sure I see you before I go."

Meredith looks to Alex, who has turned away to give us some privacy, and says, "Yes. Of course."

"How about we meet at the Washington Monument at noon? I'll take you both out to lunch."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Sounds good, man," Alex interrupts. "Meredith, we really have to go."

Meredith smiles at me. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Meredith. See you, Alex."

They both wave their goodbyes and I watch as Meredith retreats to another night spent beneath the stars.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi everyone! I hope you all have fantastic weekend plans!**

**This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but my brain hurts. GOOD NEWS THOUGH, I have a real, honest-to-god outline written out (this never happens). I'm perfectly on track for phase two of this story.  
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**Thank you all for the comments and happy reading!  
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><p>"Hey man, I have beer!" Mark calls as he enters my apartment. I've given him the keypad code to my building—which is against regulation—because I'm so tired of his incessant buzzing to be let up. I've overheard some of my neighbors commenting on the nice new boy in 4B; I think they assumed I've moved, or am dead, since I don't show my face much besides going to work. Mark, on the other hand, has helped two neighbors move furniture and another with her groceries.<p>

"I ordered pizza because it's too hot to cook."

New York City is baking under 100+ degrees. The air-conditioning in my apartment can barely keep up and if I start the stove or oven, I'm afraid the whole place will set on fire.

"Bleeker Street Pizza?" Mark asks, putting the twelve pack in the fridge.

I take the beer he offers, "Of course."

"Any news?"

"She'll be here later on today. Alex is going to drop her off and head back to his parents' house. Or, I guess his mom's house now. Meredith said the funeral is on Thursday."

"That's a lucky break, man. He runs away because his father abuses him and his dad winds up dead a few months later. He can get back to his life now. Forget it ever happened."

I take a long draw of my beer. Even if Alex's dad was the scum of the earth, I highly doubt he'll be able to forget about his abusive father. "Meredith said he'll be taking care of his mom now. I guess she's really broken up about it."

"She sits by for years and watches him abuse her son and she's broken up about his death. If I were her, I'd be throwing the best fucking party anyone's ever seen."

I understand Mark's thoughts on the matter, but I don't honestly know what I would do if I were Alex. Granted, my father is a wonderful man, but part of Alex must be broken up about the death of his father. Either way, he'll never have a father again—good or bad.

As Mark continues to spout his very one-sided opinion, I can't help but feel anxious about Meredith's arrival. She text me from her brand new phone this morning to let me know they were on their way. The bus to Port Authority is set to arrive in forty minutes and after nearly an hour of fighting about it, I won't meet her at the terminal. _"I'll be living in New York a while. I need to learn my way around_," she told me. It helped, some, that Alex was bringing her down to my apartment before catching a train to Connecticut.

There was still a lot to discuss—the parameters of her staying with me and of our relationship in general, but I've decided not to rush anything. Meredith will be staying until her eighteenth birthday, at least, which gives us more than enough time to sort everything out. I refuse to take on the role of her guardian or—shutter—her father, but I do expect that she'll be home by a certain hour and let me know where she's going. After all, this isn't some podunk town in the middle of Nebraska; we live in New York City for Christ's sake.

Meredith wants to start classes in the fall to finish her junior year and start her senior year in tandem, but I know we'll have to request transfer papers for her admittance. Transferring schools can be tracked and if Ellis Grey is still hell-bent on finding her daughter, she'll find her in a flash if I actually enroll Meredith. I can't think of a single way to get Meredith through school without Ellis's watchful eye, not until she's eighteen at least and her records are closed to Meredith's eyes only. But if we wait until October, Meredith will miss the first month of school _on top of_ missing the last two and a half months from her junior year. It seems, at this point, that Meredith's education will have to be put on the backburner.

I have no idea what Meredith will be doing for the next few months. She can't work without proper paperwork and any trace of her can lead Ellis our way. Meredith's concerns from before—about harboring a runaway—are still very real and now that Ellis knows my face, it wouldn't be difficult for us to be found. We both have to be careful, but to lock a seventeen year old girl away for the next two months seems too extreme. I worry she'll grow bored and tired cooped up in my apartment, but I worry even more that she'll be noticed by the wrong person and swooped away to Massachusetts.

The biggest hurdle we have is our relationship. I still don't know what I feel for Meredith, but I do know I like kissing her. I can't like that, though. With kissing comes sex and I don't want to add statutory rape to my already delinquent rap sheet. I have to stay away from Meredith; no touching, no flirting, and definitely no kissing.

"Earth to Derek!" Mark calls, pizza in hand.

I blink a few times and wet my dry lips. How long was I out of it? "Let me take care of that," I reach for my wallet.

Mark kicks the door shut behind him. "Don't worry about it. Where were you just now?"

"Nowhere."

"Meredith moving in here is freaking you out again," Mark sets the pizza down on the coffee table.

I scrub my hand over my face. "It's just a lot to worry about."

"It's what you wanted though, right?" Mark calls from the kitchen, returning with two paper plates. No matter how many times I tell him to stop wasting paper goods, he never listens. I swear Mark is the ring leader in the destruction of at least two forests in the United States.

"Right."

_I waited for Meredith until two on the second day of the medical conference. Kathy, Nancy, and Matt thought I was taking in a different talk than them, but I couldn't even think about the conference knowing Meredith was so close. But after two hours, she hadn't shown yet and I had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to. I agreed to meet up with my family at three and in less than an hour, I'd be cut off from Meredith again._

_The Washington Monument was bustling with people, but much like the day before, I only keep my eyes on lookout for Meredith's familiar blond hair. I see a lot of attractive women, some who also notice me, but I can't hold their gaze for more than a second for fear that I might miss Meredith's approach. Our lunch sits next to me wasted—three turkey sandwiches, some chips, and watermelon. I bought the food at a good looking deli and when I first sat down all I could think about was eating. But now, my appetite is long gone and the knots in my stomach are growing deeper and deeper._

_Another half hour passes under the oppressive sun. I'm baking; my skin is red and sweat is sliding down my neck, but I can't leave yet. I worry about what happened. My first thought is that Alex has taken her away. He's run to West Virginia by now. It'll be months until I see her again. But I know Alex wouldn't do anything against Meredith's will, and I desperately hold onto the thought that she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to me. And then I wonder if they're in trouble. Even if the park isn't monitored at night doesn't mean it couldn't be at some point. Someone found them camping and has arrested them. Meredith is on her way back to Massachusetts; or, maybe, they've found Ellis's hotel room here and handed her off. I wonder if Ellis will start drinking again. Will Meredith run again?_

"_Derek."_

_Meredith stands before me. She's breathless and beautiful._

_I stand up. "Hey. What happened?"_

"_I'm sorry," she pleads. "Alex's dad died and we've been trying to figure out what to do all morning."_

_I shake my head, "I'm sorry." I push all thoughts of my own father dying out of my mind. "But I don't understand."_

"_Alex's dad is the reason he ran. He's…abusive," she says as if the word sours in her mouth. "Alex wants to go back to be with his mom."_

"_Are you going?"_

_Meredith shakes her head. "I can't. You know I can't."_

"_Come back to New York."_

"_Derek, I—"_

_I cut her off, "I know. It's crazy. You can't. You're putting me in danger. I don't care about any of that. Its two months, Meredith. Stay with me."_

"_It just seems wrong."_

"_What's wrong is your mother being an abusive alcoholic._"

"_I don't want to get you in trouble."_

"_Meredith, I don't care about that. I just want to keep you safe."_

_She looks to her feet. Her skin is tanned and freckled and her hair seems lighter now. She shuffles her feet and keeps her eyes turned away from mine. I reach through her curtain of hair and turn her chin up. "Stop worrying about me. Let me worry about you."_

_The corner of her mouth turns up. "My dad used to say that to me."_

_I take that as a yes. "We can go back today if you want. I'm supposed to fly back with my sisters tomorrow, but I can get us a driver and have us back in New York by dinner."_

"_Alex is still trying to figure everything out. He's left some things at a friend's house in Richmond. I have to go with him."_

"_I'll take you."_

_Meredith smiles and lays her hand on my forearm. "My best friend's father just died. I have to be here for him. Go back to New York. I'll meet you there."_

_I nod, knowing if it were Mark, I'd want to be there for him too. "Okay. I think we should talk to Alex. Figure out what happens next."_

"_Come on," Meredith nods and I follow her through the blistering sun, forgetting our lunch but no longer so worried._

"So should I leave before she gets here? I'm sure you'll like time alone with her," Mark winks and throws both of our plates out. Somehow, we've eaten an entire pizza.

I check my phone, just in case she's called, and lean back into the couch. "I want you to leave, but not because we need time alone. It's not like that."

"Not like what? You like her. She likes you. Do I need to teach you about the birds and the bees?"

"This is _exactly_ why I don't want you here. I'm not going to sleep with Meredith. She's not even legal. It's bad enough I could get sent away for a year for having her here, but to add five years because of that?" I shake my head. "Plus, I think the kiss on the roof was a momentary lapse in judgment. We're just friends."

"First of all, you're an _idiot_. You're not just friends," Mark applies air quotes. "Second, Meredith's seventeen. She's legal."

"She's not legal. Not until she's eighteen."

Mark pulls out his phone and begins to furiously type on the screen. "Do you know nothing?" He walks over to me and presents his phone like a prize on the Price is Right. "Statutory rape laws in New York state that no one twenty-one or older can have sex with a person younger than seventeen. _Younger than seventeen_," he repeats, as if I didn't hear him. "You're twenty-one, she's seventeen. Completely legal."

I stare at the screen for a good, long minute. I read, and then re-read the laws governed by New York State. Mark is right, of course. Meredith is seventeen and I'm twenty-one; it's perfectly legal. If I was forty and Meredith was still only seventeen, it would be legal. If I were twenty and Meredith fifteen, it would be legal. My stomach flips knowing that Meredith and I could… I shake my head and push Mark's hand away. Even though I can, doesn't mean I will. Meredith is vulnerable and has been through too much in the last few months. She doesn't need some oversexed college kid pawing all over her.

"Great Mark. You can go."

"So this is why you've been so PG with your runaway."

"She's not my runaway." I stand from the couch, desperately needing to space myself away from Mark.

He grins. "I'll go, but only because you look like you're going to puke. I hope you have some condoms." And with that he leaves me in the silence of my apartment.

I manage to not dwell on the legality of a possible sexual relationship with Meredith and in no time, the front door buzzer slices through the still air. I jump up and let them in. When I open the door, I notice Alex standing in front of Meredith looking surprisingly happy.

"Hey man," he sticks out his hand which I shake. "Thanks for taking her in."

"I'm right here, you know," Meredith grouses and pushes her way into the apartment.

I smile at her, "Yeah, well I wasn't going to leave her out in the cold. There's no telling what kind of trouble she might get into."

Meredith drops her backpack onto the floor and returns my smile. "Hey Derek."

"It's good to have you here."

I release Alex's hand and wrap my arm around Meredith's shoulders. She folds into me and I turn my cheek to rest against her head.

"I'm sorry about your dad, Alex."

He shakes his head with a smile. "Believe me, no one is sorry about my dad. Except maybe my mom." I reluctantly release Meredith. "Despite everything, she still loved the bastard."

"Well, then my apologies to your mother."

"Thanks man. I'm happy to head home. I only wish this one could come with me," he nods towards Meredith. They share a look. It's insignificant, really, to an outsider, but I can see the meaning behind it; they'll miss one another. Seemingly, Alex has been her lifeline in all of this and vice versa; with Alex's departure, Meredith has no ties to her previous life here in New York.

"Maybe you'll see her in a few months."

Alex turns his gaze to me and I understand how much faith he is putting in me; after all, this is only the third time we met, and both other times were short in the grand scheme of it all.

"Can you two stop talking like I'm not here?" she scolds.

For a long moment, Meredith and Alex just smirk at each other, but I see something changing. I reach for Meredith's bag, "I'll put your stuff in your room," I say and give them a moment alone.

I spend way too long in the guest bedroom. I reconsider the overall design of the room first. My mom and Nancy decorated my entire apartment, but standing in the guest room seems depressing now. It's stark white with green and blue accents in the bedding and curtains. The desk is bare besides a lamp and the side table only has an alarm clock and another lamp. There are no pictures on the wall and no real indicator that anyone's ever lived in this room.

And then I consider Alex and Meredith's friendship. She told me there was once more to their relationship. Did they date? How long were they sleeping together? (I'm not an idiot. I know, beyond reasonable doubt that they have slept together.) And then I wonder if they decided to rekindle aspects of their relationship; maybe they're still sleeping together. Maybe that's why this is so hard. It wouldn't be absurd to consider Meredith and Alex having sex again. I pace the length of the room wondering.

"Your neighbors probably hate you with all that pacing."

Meredith is crouched over her backpack, pulling the contents out and tossing them onto the bed.

"Where's Alex?"

"He left."

"Oh." I kind of wanted to say goodbye.

Meredith rests back on her heels and looks up at me. "He wanted me to thank you again for agreeing to this. I promise I'll be the perfect roommate. I'll even get a job and buy groceries."

"First off, I've been asking you to stay since I first met you. And second, you don't need to get a job or buy groceries. I'm happy to do all that for you."

"I'd like to though. I know I can't work in an official capacity—you know, signing papers and offering up my social security number—but I can work under the table. Make some cash as a waitress at a pizza place or something like that. I'd help me." Meredith turns her backpack upside down onto the bed. "I'm afraid I'm going to be bored. I can't go to school and you'll be busy during the day. I feel like I need something to do or I'll go crazy."

Meredith still has the clothes I bought her before she left. I smile and pick up a particularly battered teddy bear. "I'll ask around and see if there are any openings."

She snatches the bear back. "Thanks. And keep your paws off Snuggles."

"Snuggles? Like the teddy bear from the commercials?"

Meredith buries the bear beneath her pillow. "I'm a 90s kid. Snuggles was big back then."

"Snuggles is a stuffed, animatronic teddy bear. Snuggles was never _big_."

"Don't you have stem cells to research or something?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Do you need anything before I go?"

Meredith starts to fold her clothes and place them nicely on the desk. I really should invest in a dresser. "No, I think I'm set."

"Help yourself to any food. And," I reach into my pocket and hold out a house key to her, "so you can come and go as you please." I shrug. Meredith takes the key. "The front door code is 3176."

Her hand curls around the key. "Thanks."

It's weird to have Meredith in my apartment again, but it feels completely and utterly correct. It feels like she never should have left in the first place. The time away almost seems like it never happened and Meredith's been here since the beginning. She seems comfortable and confident within the four walls of my place, so giving her a key only feels natural.

"Yeah, okay. I should go."

Meredith offers me a soft smile and returns to her things. I notice she slides the key into her pocket. "Oh, and Meredith?"

She looks up.

"It's good to have to back."

Her smile grows into something real and genuine and her entire face glows with the bright possibilities of tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your wonderful comments! :)**

**It should be known that I hate writing filler. But sometimes you need a little filler so the next part makes sense. So, here is a filler chapter. But just you wait for the next one! I have grand, grand plans :)**

**P.S. I've recently become obsessed with Castle (only four years since the premiere - so what?) and if you know any good Castle FF, let me know!  
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><p>Meredith sits in my kitchen, at the small corner table, with her knees pulled to her chest. She reads the newspaper and slowly eats a bowl of cereal. She's only been here one night, but it feels like she never left. I watch her undetected for a minute. She follows the words on the page with her finger and mouths the text between bites. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She clears a fallen eyelash away from her cheek. She smiles at something. I could simply watch her all morning.<p>

I walk into the kitchen as if I hadn't been standing there all along. "Morning."

Meredith smiles around her spoon. "Morning," she says through the milk and cereal in her mouth.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Really good. It's better than camping in a tent," she laughs. "Thanks again for this, Derek. I know a thank you doesn't really cover everything you're doing for me, but I really do appreciate it."

I grab an apple from the fridge and lean against the counter next to the sink. "You don't need to thank me. I'm happy to have you here." My phone rings in my pocket. _Mark._ I sigh and pick up the call, "Hi Mark." I roll my eyes at Meredith and she smiles in return.

"_How was night one?"_

"Fine." I step out of the kitchen and walk through to my bedroom. "We ate, Meredith went to bed, and I went to bed. It's pretty much what I usually do, but with a seventeen-year-old audience."

"_Where is she now?"_

"In the kitchen." I scrub my hand over my face. I left my apple in the kitchen and I'm starving.

"_Where are you?"_

I plop down on the edge of my bed. "If you ask me what I'm wearing next, I'm going to punch you. What's with the third degree?"

"_I got an email this morning from Rick Beckett at Sinai. I guess Dr. Grey started today."_

Mount Sinai is all the way uptown on the Upper East Side. Sinai is closer to the Bronx than to Christopher Street, but the thought that Ellis Grey is now sharing a city with Meredith and me is nerve-racking. The likelihood that Ellis will ever make it to the Village is slim to none, but that doesn't mean Meredith can't make it to the park or the Guggenheim, or any other location close to Sinai.

"Thanks Mark. I'll let Meredith know."

"_No problem, man. So, what are you guys up to today?"_

"I hadn't really gotten that far."

"_Come over to my place. I had a barbecue put inand I want to fire it up this afternoon. Hamburgers, hotdogs, maybe even s 'mores."_

"Where the hell are you putting a barbecue? In your living room?"

"_Don't be ridiculous. It's on the roof. I'm preparing everything for my birthday extravaganza this weekend."_

"Ah, there it is." I try to block out Mark's birthday every year. He goes way over the top and I always end up really, really drunk. "I'll talk to Meredith. I'll text you later."

"_See you at seven. Bring beer."_

Mark hangs up and I walk back into the kitchen. Meredith is no longer at the table and her cereal bowl is rinsed and drying in the dish rack beside the sink. I pick up my apple and take a bite, considering Ellis's new home here in New York, and allow myself to grow distracted by a flock of pigeons flying past my window. New York City has over eight million people living within her streets; I doubt I'll ever run into Ellis.

I'm not used to anyone else being in my apartment, so when Meredith slides up next to me, I jump and almost drop my apple. She laughs at me.

"That was very manly of you," she teases me. "I guess you'll have to get used to having me in the house again."

"Yeah, guess so."

"What's wrong?" Meredith's brow furrows.

I sigh and dump my apple core in the trash. "Your mom is in New York."

"I know."

I turn to her and cross my arms over my chest. "How?" I imagine Meredith and Ellis meeting clandestinely under the cover of evening shadows.

"Her conference in DC. Remember? She told everyone she'd be taking a job at Mount Sinai."

"How'd you know she's here now?"

Meredith shrugs, "I didn't, not really. I mean, I just figured she was. Mount Sinai doesn't wait for anyone, even Dr. Ellis Grey. I knew she'd be moving here within the next few weeks." Meredith's cheeks grow pink. I wonder what it's like to know your mother is so close, but have no desire to see her. "How'd you know she'd moved?"

"Mark told me. He knows someone at Sinai." I pause, wondering if Mark's friend Rick would be okay with keeping tabs on Ellis. I revert my attention back to Meredith. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"It's weird that your mom is so close."

"I'll have to stay away from the park," she smirks. "Or at least the East Side."

"Nothing happens on the East Side anyway."

Meredith fiddles with the bottom of her tee shirt. "Thanks for telling me, Derek. I know you already have enough to worry about without me stealing all the hot water and eating all your eggs. The last thing you need to worry about is my mother on top of everything else."

"I'm not worried about your mother and I don't need to worry about you. You're a smart girl, Meredith. And you can use as much hot water as you like," I tease.

Her mouth turns into a grin. "So, what are you doing today?"

* * *

><p>"Who, besides Mark Sloan, puts a barbecue in right before his birthday?" Meredith asks as we walk from 72nd street to 80th.<p>

I carry a black plastic bag with a six-pack of Heineken and Meredith carries a chocolate cake from Magnolia's. "Unfortunately, Mark has done some pretty crazy shit for his birthday. For his nineteenth, he rented an island in the Caribbean and flew all his friends down for the weekend. He didn't even ask anyone for a cent. And then, for his twenty-first, his ten best friends and him visited Ireland and we got drunk every single night."

"What's the point of that? He'd been legal in Ireland since eighteen."

"With Mark, it's all about the shock. I'm sure this year will be just as over-the-top."

Meredith and I enter Mark's building—right across from the Museum of Natural History—and wait while the doorman calls upstairs. Mark has been rich since birth. His father works on Wall Street and his mother owns an art gallery in Tribeca. Before his parents, his grandparents were wealthy, too. When Mark decided to attend Columbia, his mother immediately called her real estate agent and found the best apartment she could on the Upper West Side—a $5.7 million, three bedroom, four bathroom condo right across the street from the park. What a twenty-one year old needs with a three bedroom apartment—especially when his parents own two other apartments in the city—is beside me.

I barely notice the lobby anymore, but Meredith looks around fascinated. "Mark's in the penthouse, of course."

"Of course," Meredith sighs. "Lifestyles of the rich and the famous."

"I saw your mom's house. It didn't look like you were struggling back then."

Meredith nods, "No, we weren't. But there's a difference between owning a house with a yard with the ocean in your backyard and a Central Park condo. Real estate is only about your cross streets in Manhattan."

"True, but Mark does have a pretty sweet rooftop."

"I'm sure he does."

The doorman allows us to pass and we ride the penthouse elevator to the fortieth floor. Mark throws his door open with a grin. "Ah, it's the teenage runaway!"

Meredith rolls her eyes, "It's nice to see you too, Mark."

"Bring it in for the real thing." Mark wraps his arms around Meredith's shoulders and she hands the cake off to me before it crashes to the ground. Meredith doesn't seem to reject Mark's advances and I'm equal parts happy and jealous of their reunion; I've barely touched Meredith since she showed up, let alone hugged her. Mark whispers something into her ear which makes her laugh and then push him away.

"Ew, Mark!" she smacks his arm.

He laughs and his eyes meet mine. "Come on in. I _have_ to show you the roof."

Mark leads us through his apartment—which is swimming in boxes and party supplies—and up the back stairwell that leads to the roof. When Mark and I first moved to the city—during our sophomore year—we spent a lot of time on his barren roof drinking and smoking. It took me months to realize being a doctor and a smoker was not a good mix and quit the latter. But since then, I haven't been on Mark's roof once. All I can remember is dirt from the rain staining my shoes and—

The barren roof no longer exists. The one-thousand square foot space has been transformed into a garden oasis, outfitted with potted plants, low colorful planters, and vines creeping up around a trellis that covers half the roof. Under the trellis is a state-of-the-art hot tub surrounded by lounge chairs. The hot tub is already bubbling and every few minutes the water color changes from blue to green to red to yellow and back to blue. On the other end of the roof is a long, glass dining table surrounded by ten chairs and a barbecue and ample counter space. A teak bar monopolizes the area and is stocked with liquor, beer, and wine. All along the roof edge is a new railing, each section wrapped in twinkling lights.

"Holy shit," Meredith says. She dips her hand into the hot tub.

"When did you do all of this?"

Mark slides his hands into his pockets and I can see that he's very pleased with himself. "I've had my interior decorator working on it for weeks. She just finished two days ago, actually. Just in time for my party."

"When's your party?" Meredith asks.

"Saturday night. And your attendance is mandatory."

"Mark, she's seventeen."

Meredith glares at me.

"So? We did a lot worse than attend a safe house party at the age of seventeen."

I glance at Meredith and she's since crossed her arms over her chest. All I imagine is Meredith falling over the side of the building from one too many vodka cranberries. I promised myself I wouldn't be her father and keeping her home would have me stepping right into that role. Instead I smile and nod, "Yeah, of course we'll both be here."

Meredith beams.

"Let's take this grill out for a trial run. Burgers and hotdogs?" Mark asks over his shoulder.

"I'm starving," Meredith calls after Mark and follows him back down the steps.

I stay on the roof to look out over the park. I've stood here and looked in the same direction more times than I could ever count, but it seems different now. My life seems different now. The park looks quiet from up here, but as the sun sets, I know its bustling with joggers, bicyclists, dog walkers, little leaguers, drunks, performance artists, men, women, children, dogs, horses, pigeons, and every other walk of life NYC has to offer. And all I can think of is Meredith being chased down the long, winding paths, not knowing if she's running deeper into the trees or headed toward safety.

I wonder how many women have been followed in Central Park. I wonder how many women have been dragged underneath one of the dark bridges and forced against their will. How many women haven't been as lucky as Meredith? I imagine if it were my mom or my sisters; I imagine what I would feel if one of them had been dragged behind a rock formation with a hand pressed over her mouth to keep her from screaming. I shutter and try to push the thoughts away, but with the list of important women growing in my life, I can only imagine all the horrors that they face every day.

However, at the end of the day, Meredith is tough. Hell, my mom and sisters are tough. They're not the kind of women to take anything lying down. Kathy and Nancy are tougher broads than any I know. I'm not saying they could take down multiple men, but if presented in the situation, I wholeheartedly believe that Nancy, Kathleen, and my mother could all take down a single assailant. I imagine Meredith being able to hold her own as well, but then I remember her pinned against the alleyway on Perry Street. How, when Meredith is so strong, had he gained the upper hand?

"Hey," Meredith pulls me from my daydreams. "Hamburger or hotdog? Or both?"

She's here and she's very much alive. She's fine. She'll continue to be fine.

"One of each."

While Mark mans the grill, he grills Meredith on almost every subject we have yet to tackle. I had wanted to wait before harassing Meredith about her plans for school and work and just day-to-day living, but Mark isn't good at minding his own business. I had promised Meredith I would look around for a job for her, but after glancing the newspaper in the morning and walking along the streets to and from work, it seems like jobs just don't exist; especially jobs for young women who have no papers to validate who they are.

But even with the subject matter, Meredith seems unfazed. "I can't start school in the fall," she tells Mark and reiterates what I already know. "I'm doing some research, but I really don't want to jump in and get my GED. It'll look bad. I'm thinking of starting in October, but with a private tutor and finishing my junior year and then I'll only have to do my senior year. I can do my senior year in a rapid course method and have my degree by June of next year."

"That sounds pretty good. Would your transcripts reflect the months you spent away from school?"

Meredith hands Mark a package of cheese for the burgers. "Yes, but I think my runaway story may help persuade college admissions offices to allow me to attend."

"Derek is the king of admissions essays. Tell her about the one that got you into Harvard."

"You got into Harvard?" Meredith seems impressed.

I never expected to be accepted, but I think the only reason I was was reflected in my essay. "I didn't want to go to school in Massachusetts, but I wanted to see if I could get in. I did. Anyway, I wrote about being poor growing up and then suddenly having money."

"He made it sound like a burden," Mark laughs. "As if he was in severe pain to have so much money."

"I did not. I wrote about the change it brought to every aspect of my life. All of a sudden people liked me in my school. Girls noticed me and guys picked me to play soccer at lunch. I know most of the students at Harvard are well-off, or at _least_ middle class, so I compared growing up with nothing and having money to going to high school where you learn nothing useful to heading off to Harvard where the world is laid out at your feet."

"He was pretentious," Mark plates the burgers. "Everyone hated him our freshman year."

"I wasn't pretentious. It was the truth. What did you write about, then?"

"I didn't apply to Harvard, remember?"

I take the plate from Mark and set it down on the table. "Yeah, but what about your application to Columbia? Tell Meredith what you wrote to get in."

Mark laughs and begins to slightly toast the hamburger buns. "I wrote about being the perfect only child. We had to write about a big event in our life and how it made us feel. I wrote about having no siblings and how it made me a better person because I was always in the spotlight and _had_ to be perfect. And the one thing you want in a plastic surgeon is perfection."

"You want to be a plastic surgeon."

"God yeah. Plastics make the best money, especially on the West Coast. I'll move out there for med school. Probably Stanford. It's the best place in the world for money, money, and more money. Oh, and for really hot girls."

I practically choke on my beer. "Really hot _fake_ girls, thanks to all the plastic surgeons."

Mark takes the buns and hotdogs off the grill and we all move to the table for dinner.

"What kind of surgeon do you want to be, Derek?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe cardio or neuro."

"Derek is more a see how I feel type. I take life by the balls. I knew I wanted to be a plastic surgeon when I was ten and caught a taped surgery on the medical channel. While my friends were trying to see the woman's boobs around the sensor, I was watching each cut of the blade. I knew then that I'd be a perfect plastic surgeon."

"You are shallow enough," I tease.

Mark begins fixing his plate with hamburgers, hotdogs, and grilled corn on the cob. "It's almost a prerequisite to be shallow and a plastic surgeon. Cardio surgeons are the most arrogant and serious, OBGYNs are soft and squishy," he winks and nudges me with his elbow, "ortho is fierce and scary, neuro surgeons are focused and tend to be dicks, and general surgeons are indecisive and boring."

"My mom's a general surgeon," Meredith reminds Mark.

"And can she ever make a decision?" Meredith narrows her eyes. "Is she the most interesting, or funniest, or most exciting person in a crowd? No. General surgeons are sheep. They're herded into the most boring of fields."

"You seem to know an awful lot when you're not even in med school yet."

Mark shrugs, "It's not hard to see. I've been around surgeons for years now and they're all pretty much an open book."

"I've been around surgeons since I was born and I think your assessments are pretty one sided. And you sound exactly like every other plastic surgeon I've met. They judge everyone way too harshly. Plastic surgeons just want their patients to agree to unnecessary surgery, while the other fields are life saving."

"So you're telling me there are no surgeries within plastics that would save the patient's life?"

"Of course not, but you just told us you're not in it for the medicine. You want money and to cut open hot girls. You said you have to be shallow, which basically means vain. Some plastic surgeons want to save lives, I'm sure; but by your own admission you're in it for the glory. For the fame. If you really wanted to save lives, you'd pick another specialty—any other specialty."

I sit and watch as Meredith tears Mark down point by point. He doesn't say anything in return, at first, but I can tell he's amused. If there's one thing Mark isn't used to, it's being challenged by others.

"A plastic surgeon is essentially a mirror for those who don't see themselves clearly. As a surgeon, you draw lines under boobs and across noses and you help that person to see what they want to. Cardio surgeons repair hearts; neuro surgeons repair brains; all the while, plastic surgeons are fixing people for vain reasons. Unfortunately, we need plastic surgeons to feel beautiful, but don't try to pass off your future life's work as life saving. It might be life _changing_ but for the most part, plastic surgeons are only here to make the rest of us feel good about ourselves."

Mark's casual grin transforms into an all out smile. He lifts his hands and begins a slow clap. "You know Grey, I thought you were just a teenage screw up. From the start, I've been weary of you. You came here to scam Derek, I thought, but today, right now, you've proved me wrong. Turns out, you're a clever little thing." Mark smirks. "I might not agree with your assessment—there are plenty of life saving plastic surgeries—but I do appreciate your spunk. And, if I'm being totally honest, I'm not just going into plastics for the boob jobs, but it sounds much more interesting when you tell people you get to fondle near strangers all day and get paid for it."

Meredith laughs. I sit and watch her for a minute, completely dumbfounded. She turns to me and furrows her brow.

"You are incredible," I say without an ounce of concern.

Meredith finishes a bite of watermelon and smiles wide. "My mom's always been very passionate about the hierarchy of surgery. I guess it's rubbed off on me."

As Meredith turns back to her food, I wonder what other personality traits Meredith has inherited from her mother.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for dinner, Mark," Meredith says politely. I can tell she's wondered if she pushed too far with the whole bashing-his-future-career thing, but Mark seems more or less the same.<p>

"I'll see you both Saturday, right?"

I nod and shake his hand. "We'll be here. Should I bring anything?"

"A bathing suit," Mark's eyes rack up and down Meredith's body. He smirks. "Unless you want to go into the hot tub naked."

Meredith rolls her eyes, "You wish, Sloan."

I head down the hallway and Mark calls behind us, "I'm sure your body isn't that bad Grey, but if you'd like a second opinion, I'm happy to help!"

"How are you friends with him?" she teases.

The elevator doors open and Meredith and I step in. "He's like allergies in the spring: you can't shake them, but you still stop to smell the roses."'

"Are you telling me you're smelling Mark's roses?" she quirks her eyebrow.

"As often as I can," I wink with a smile.

"Seriously though, how did you two become friends?"

We arrive in the lobby and walk out onto the sidewalk. The day is too hot to walk, but it seems like neither Meredith nor I are intend on grabbing the subway at 79th. "We met when my parents sent me to boarding school when I was thirteen. I was a loser and Mark showed me the ropes. He said he did it because he felt sorry for me, but after being there for a while, I realized no one really liked him either. He's always been this cocky," I add, as if it explains everything. And it does, really, because no one wants to hang out with an arrogant, cocky kid.

"And you stayed friends all through high school?"

"Yeah. It's weird with Mark because even when I'm at my worst, he's always been a good friend to me. I mean, he's a pig and he's an asshole, but he's genuinely a good friend. The funny thing about Mark is: he's good to be around. He's funny and when things seem absolutely terrible, it's like he makes everything better."

Meredith nods, "When I told him I was leaving, the afternoon before our beach visit, he made me feel better about it." Meredith shrugs. "I guess there are worst best friends to have, right?"

"Speaking of best friends, what are yours up to?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from Cristina or Izzie. Alex said he'd call me and keep me posted, but I think he's under a lot of stress with his mom. He didn't even tell me he arrived home safe or not."

"I'm sure he's fine," I comfort her.

"I know he is."

We walk past the 72nd street subway and I wonder if we'll walk all the way to Christopher Street.

"I'm sorry if Mark pushed for too much information about your future. Of Mark's positive qualities, his need to interrogate everyone isn't one of them."

"He didn't push too far. It's good to think about the future, no matter how much it scares me."

"You don't have to be afraid of the future. Everything's going to be okay."

A ghost of a smile passes her lips. She looks up at me as we wait for the light to change on the crosswalk. "I've spent months running Derek and I'm finally able to just sit down and wonder about my future. Since I left Massachusetts, I've only allowed myself to worry about eating enough and being safe, but now, with everything slowing down, I can only think about what comes next. I don't have a degree and I can't make plans for college. I have no idea where I'll go once I turn eighteen and even worse, I have no idea who will be there for me. At this rate, Cristina and Izzie won't be friends with me by October, so I'll only have Alex."

"And me," I remind her.

Meredith turns away from me.

"If you decide to move to France when you turn eighteen, or decide to join the Navy, or even return to your mother's home, I'll always be here for you."

"You swear?" she whispers.

I reach down and lace Meredith's left hand through my right. "I swear. I won't abandon you. I won't hurt you. And I'll never turn my back on you." It feels good to have my hand in hers. Her skin is soft and warm. She colors and turns her face away. "Meredith, I—"

A passing ambulance turns its siren on at that exact moment and Meredith jumps back, her hand falling out of mine. And with that, the moment is lost. My resolve is lost. I'm not even sure what I was going to say, but I know this moment isn't the time to say anything meaningful. Meredith looks up at me expectantly. I offer her a smile. "I think we should take a cab home."

Something in her demeanor changes, but to what I can't tell. She nods. "Okay. Can I?" she nods to the passing cabs.

I stand back and watch as Meredith hails her first New York City cab. It doesn't take long—after all, a pretty girl is much more likely to catch a cab than any guy. She smiles at me triumphantly and slides in. I feel a sense of pride in the pit of my stomach. Whether Meredith decides to stay through October, or climb the Himalayas, or train for a moon landing, I know she'll be okay in whatever she does, and at the end of the day, we'll be okay.

"Derek," she peeks her head out the window. "Come on," her smile is infectious.

I grin, slide into the cab beside Meredith, and we head home together.


	16. Chapter 16

**I really love all your comments and lovely words. You're all too kind! I'm just so happy people are still reading and enjoying!**

**Truth be told: I'm a sap. I'm a sap that likes to sprinkle in angst on occasion. I think this chapter, at least the end, properly defines my sappiness.  
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**Enjoy :)  
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><p>Mark doesn't do anything half-assed, so when Meredith asked me what to wear to his party, I told her to dress up.<p>

I dress in dark jeans and a suit jacket—Mark probably expects me to wear a tie. The only way you'll ever get me to wear a tie is to a wedding or a job interview. Meredith headed out earlier for a dress, but has yet to even give me a sneak peek. She's showered, dried her hair, and is now holed up in her room. The party started an hour ago, but I'll never arrive early. Plus, I've nursed three beers in an hour, so by the time I get there I'll hardly be worrying about Meredith drinking and hordes of men hanging on her every word. I won't care if she gets hit on. It won't bother me if she laughs at some meathead's joke.

Scratch that, I need a shot…or two.

One, two shots of tequila down my throat, and I'm feeling better. It's not called liquid courage for nothing.

Meredith's door opens and she steps out in a rich blue dress. I'm not one to notice styles or patterns or colors even, but as Meredith makes her way into the living room, all I can see is the style, pattern, and color of her dress as it embraces her petit frame. The dress is soft against her pale skin and shows her impossibly long legs and narrow shoulders. It's strapless and collects right beneath her breasts, forcing me to realize how tiny her waist really is. She doesn't even notice me at first as she adjusts the sides of the dress and smoothes out her skirt, but I notice her. She teeters in heels and her hair falls along her shoulders in soft, shiny waves. Her eyes are painted dark, but her lips remain nude. As she approaches, still making last minute adjustments, I'm able to drink in the sight of her and I feel my stomach turn and flutter. I'm stunned, awed, and mesmerized.

When she finally looks up, I can't look away. I'm afraid if I blink, she'll disappear.

Meredith stares back at me and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "You look good."

I swallow—hard—and try to remember how words formulate sentences. "You look beautiful," I say, but my voice breaks twice.

She smiles wider, "Should we go?"

* * *

><p>We reach Park West just after ten and I can already see the lights from the party reaching into the night's sky. They're swallowed up by the lingering lights of Time Square, but with the darkness of the park to the right, Mark's rooftop looks like a Vegas oasis. Building management looks less-than-thrilled over Mark's party and the overabundance of building guests, but luckily they know me and allow Meredith and me by without as much as a side glance.<p>

As we ride the elevator, the music becomes louder and the alcohol I consumed seems lesser. With the way Meredith looks, people will be hitting on her in two minutes flat. I obviously can't stop her from flirting, but with a few more drinks, maybe I will grow enough strength to stake my claim.

It's strange that we haven't discussed the kiss on the rooftop since she's returned. It was obviously meant to convince her to stay, but it was also meant to profess my feelings. She _had_ to know I wasn't just kissing her for her health. If only we could talk it out, maybe I'd be able to realize why I felt the need to kiss her that day and why it meant so much that she kissed me back. If I was honest with myself for just a second, I might discover that my feelings for Meredith haven't been platonic for a while—maybe since the beginning.

Meredith steps forward as we reach Mark's floor. "Should I be scared?" she jokes.

The doors open to all-out chaos. Mark's apartment has been transformed from an upstanding eastern exposure three bedroom, to a beach party. Clearly, Meredith and I didn't get the bikinis and board shorts memo. In the middle of Mark's living room, where his mother had arranged furniture to the centimeter, is a huge sand pile. Or, rather, it _was once_ a pile, but now it's a soft bed flattened beneath bare feet. A volley ball net has been erected in the middle and two volley balls remain lodged in the 1800th century chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Girls in bikinis jump to hit the volley ball, while guys with white sunscreen over their noses tackle them to the ground. In the background, someone's put on the Beach Boys—aptly enough—and a crowd of drunken girls sing along.

In the distance, the kitchen is overrun with tiki-themed items; plates, cups, even wall dressings, and the whole space is lined with margarita glass lights. The kitchen counter has been transformed into a bar and every surface is lined with top shelf tequila, rum, vodka, scotch, bourbon, gin, and tens of other liquors. Someone thought to bring wine, and no less than fifteen bottles litter the dining room table. A water cooler of…something…fills the sink and every once and while, a girl with a red cup refills and stumbles back to the lap she had just been sitting on.

Everyone is sauced and half naked. Everyone but Meredith and me.

"Yes, you should be very scared," I regretfully say.

"Party foul!" some wrecked guy yells and points at Meredith and me. "Strip, strip, strip," he begins chanting and everyone follows.

I realize that everyone isn't in bikinis, just a select few, actually. Everyone else has stripped from their clothes, which I now notice in a big pile next to the fireplace, and are prancing around in their underwear. I notice a few girls wearing oversized tee shirt…presumably the girls not wearing a bra.

Meredith turns to me, eyes wide, "They aren't serious, right?"

The crowd begins to grow and the cheers become louder. I notice Mark joining in with a wicked smile on his face. He throws his fist up in the air and screams louder than anyone else.

"They're one hundred percent serious." I tune out the noise and face Meredith. "We can go."

She slowly shakes her head, but the look of panic remains. She turns toward me and reaches up onto her toes. Her lips barely touch my ear. "I'm not wearing a bra."

All my blood rushes south and I take a deep breath. _Cool down, Shep. Cool down._ I think of anything to distract me and a second later I'm better. I swallow and nod. "Do you want to stay?"

"Yes."

I nod once and grab Meredith's hand, leading her past Mark. "No bra," I explain to him and lead her back to Mark's bedroom. People cat call behind us, probably imagining we're about to hook up, but I ignore them. I'm not going to have Meredith undress in front of one hundred hungry men.

Meredith kicks off her shoes as I shut the door closed behind us. "What just happened out there?" she shouts over the booming music.

"Mark likes to…tease his guests. He hasn't done this in years, so I hadn't really thought of it, but one of his favorite things is to not divulge all the details. He once held a cross-dressing party, but didn't tell anyone until they showed up; we all had to switch clothes. He's never done this before, though. I've gotta say, it's kind of ingenious."

"So what now?"

I remove my jacket and toss it onto Mark's bed. "I'll strip and give you my shirt. You can wear it over…" your underwear, I mean to say, but the words are stuck in my throat.

Meredith nods, "Okay."

Stripping in front of Meredith feels deeply intimate, so I shut myself into Mark's bathroom. I take all my clothes off and hide them under the sink in a box towards the back. Knowing Mark, phase two will be stealing everyone's clothes so they have to walk home practically naked. I try not to feel self-conscious when I step back into the bedroom, but I can't help it. Meredith watches me approach, but her eyes never leave mine. Maybe the kiss on the roof was for my benefit only.

I hand her my shirt and she slips into the bathroom. The door isn't totally shut, but I stay seated on the bed. When she reappears, in only her underwear—which is hidden—and my shirt, I keep focused on her face. She smiles. "I hid my stuff beneath the sink. Mark's probably going to steal everything."

"I did that, too."

Meredith and I walk back into the living room and people cheer. Meredith blushes and bows just slightly and I wave to everyone. I look to Meredith and we both share a smile. Embarrassment really draws you closer.

"Want a drink?" I offer. I decide that if Meredith's going to drink, I'll be the one supplying her.

I don't see him approach until he's beside us. "Hey."

He's tall, taller than me. He looks like a swimmer—huge shoulders and a narrow waist. I instantly hate him. His teeth are too white and he wears a 5 o'clock shadow like Ryan Gosling. And I can tell Meredith's already buying into him. "I'm Matt," he offers her his hand. Of _course_ his name is Matt.

Meredith shakes his hand, "Meredith. And this is my friend Derek."

Friend.

_Friend_.

She's opened up her playing field for him.

"Hey man," he nods and immediately turns his attention back to Meredith. "I haven't seen you here before. How do you know Mark?"

"I introduced them," I interrupt.

Meredith and Matt both look at me. Meredith looks horrified.

Matt rolls with the punches, "Are you and Mark dating?" he asks casually.

"Do you know Mark at all? He doesn't date."

They both laugh.

I'm obsolete.

"I'll just, uh," neither look at me. "Yeah."

I walk to the bar and find the best bottle of scotch. I pour a double and down it in two seconds. The alcohol burns on the way down, but the burn reminds me I'm still alive and kicking. Mark approaches and I pour another double. He holds out his glass and I give him the same amount. We clink our glasses and I polish mine off as Mark sips his.

"Are you trying to set the world record for the most scotch consumed in the least amount of time?"

I pour a third glass. "I'm trying to numb the pain."

Mark finds Meredith in the crowd. He narrows his eyes. "I fucking hate Matt Rosenberg." He finishes his drink. "Alright man, let's get drunk."

* * *

><p>Mark's plan works.<p>

I sit between two brunettes—Sasha and Melissa. They're both models and both as tall as me. They smell nice. They flirt and laugh. I'm finishing my sixth (?) scotch. I'm drunk, very drunk, but very, very happy. I smile and laugh and flirt with them. Mark left them with me. He called them a gift. Until this moment, I had no idea what he really meant.

Sasha, the brunette with the blue eyes, leans into me and kisses just below my ear. I feel the familiar pull of attraction. "My friend Melissa and I have always wanted to be together with one guy." She tugs on my earlobe.

I smirk and almost spill my drink on her.

"Mark said his guest room is available," Melissa whispers and kisses me lightly on the lips. I notice her looking at Sasha.

Somehow, I find Mark in the crowd and he raises his glass to me. I'm drunk and wanted by two models. I don't worry about performance or anything else. I stand up with one of their hands in each of mine. Mark whistles and a few guys cheer.

I'm about to live every guy's fantasy.

The volleyball court is looking sad. Most of the sand has been disbursed throughout the room and the girls who had been playing are now too wasted to do much of anything. Sasha and Melissa are equally as gone as me, but at least their heads aren't lolling back as they begin the early stages of blackout drunk, like the girls who sit beside the volleyball net.

Just outside the bedroom door, Sasha pushes me up against the wall and kissed me. Her lips are hot and needy against mine. Melissa kisses my neck and up my chin and before I know it, they're kissing each other. I've never been so turned on in my life. I kiss Melissa and then Sasha, just as Melissa runs her hand down the front of my boxers. I groan and kiss her again. Without another moment's pause, I open the first of Mark's two guest rooms. As soon as I flick on the switch, I notice my shirt on the floor. I look up and Meredith is lying beneath Matt.

"What the fuck?" I growl, effectively pushing through my lust. Nothing kills an erection like seeing the girl you… like seeing Meredith lying beneath another guy.

Matt turns, "Shit man, get the fuck out."

I focus on Meredith. She covers her chest with a pillow, but from the glazed look in her eyes, I can tell she's completely gone. She's drunk and vulnerable. She looks scared and worried. She runs a clumsy hand through her hair. "Derek…" she swallows.

"Meredith, what are you doing?"

"She's an adult man, get the fuck out," Matt yells.

Sasha tugs on my arm, "Come on Derek. We'll find another room."

Meredith looks between Melissa and Sasha and realization skims over her face. I stare into her grey eyes and I watch something blossom; something different from before. We're both trapped in compromising positions. Is it hurt or disgust? Either way, Meredith can't be more disgusted than I am with myself. I walk into the room, not taking my eyes off hers, and I pick up my shirt. I walk past Matt, who looks angry as hell, and I hold up the shirt for Meredith. She stares up at me, her eyes growing watery. She turns her back to me, pillow to her chest, and I look away as she slips her arms through. She buttons every button quickly—even the one at her throat—and stands up from the bed.

Matt flops back against the bed with a sigh. "Fucking tease," he growls.

I lead her past the models. They slip into the guestroom behind us and shut the door. A second later, I hear Matt groan.

I look for Mark, but he's nowhere to be found. I lead Meredith into his bedroom, where our clothes still wait for us, and sit her on the bed. I'm not feeling drunk any longer. For hangover sake, I grab us both a glass of water and I sit down next to Meredith. She drinks without saying anything and I'm able to tune out everything but the sound of water sliding down her throat. She coughs into her sleeve and takes another long drink. I finish my water in one gulp.

The party continues to rock outside the door, but inside we're both quiet. I'm trying to contain my anger at finding Meredith in bed with Matt, but all I can imagine is the sight of her hips as they rolled up to meet his. I swallow hard. Alternatively, I'm sure Meredith can only see me flanked by the two brunettes. I wonder how it made her feel. I turn to glance at her, hoping to learn something from her face, but her hair has formed a veil around her head.

"I'm drunk," she says woefully.

I set my water glass down beside my feet. "Were you going to sleep with him?"

Meredith looks up at me; her face clears and her eyes narrow. "I don't see how that's any of your—"

"Matt's a piece of shit. And while you're staying with me, you can't fuck around."

"Don't be so pious, Derek. If I remember correctly, you were about to have a _threesome_ with two girls who could barely keep their hands off one another." Her nostrils flare when she's angry. "And why shouldn't I sleep with Matt?"

"Well, the fact that you looked like you were going to cry when I came into the room—that might be a reason not to sleep with some guy _you just met_."

"Oh, and I bet you've known the slutty twins for years now. I bet you're all just really good friends and they're not out there looking for some random guy to fuck." Meredith stands and crosses the room. "You act all high and mighty, but you're no better than anyone else, Derek. You're pissed because I showed interest in someone else. You're pissed because I might actually be able to make a life here in New York without your help. And you're being an asshole because you're trying to squirrel me away—keep me all to yourself." She barely takes a breath. "You know, I'm happy you saved me and everything, but I'm not some prize to display on your mantel. I'm not going to stay here forever and if I start to meet other people, you have to let me go."

"So that's it? You're just waiting for the moment someone else gives you a bed to sleep in. I'm invested in your life now, Meredith. I _care_. And I'm sorry if rains on your fucking parade. I'm not a saint, but you're seventeen years old. Do you really want to be that slut who fucks some random guy at a party?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel my stomach drop. "Meredith, I didn't mean that," I say as I stand. "I'm sorry."

Meredith's jaw tightens and she crosses her arms over her chest. I'm painfully aware of the fact that we're both only in our underwear. "I decided to stay with you against my better judgment. Did you know that? Even Alex wasn't sure if I should stay here with you, but I assured him I'd be okay. I told him _you'd_ never do anything to hurt me. Alex was afraid you'd try something against my wishes. I knew you'd never do that—not after you saved me. But right now, I'd rather be in that alleyway with my mouth covered by that rapist asshole than standing here with you!"

She flees into the bathroom and drags her clothes out from under the sink. I can only watch as she tugs my shirt over her head and stands there in just her black panties. I turn away and give her just enough time to pull her dress over her head.

"I didn't like seeing you with him. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," I plead.

It's like I'm watching it all over again. I'm watching her leave the first time—after she spent the night on my couch; and I'm watching her the second time—after we kissed—when she fled to Virginia; and I'm watching her walk away from me in DC. She's always running. Always going. Meredith's not just running from her mother and the pain she caused, but she's running from everyone she's ever met.

I turn back to her and she's tugging on her shoes. "Don't run, Meredith."

She straightens and glares at me. "Don't fucking tell me what to do"

I reach out to touch her arm, but she pulls away. She's defiant and angry; a dangerous mix. "I want to help you. I want to be here for you. You have to know I didn't mean what I said. Just seeing you with him…with someone else…" I meet her tearful eyes. "I'm sorry."

Meredith scrubs her hand over her eyes. "I'm tired of constantly being judged. Why can't I just do what I want? Why does everyone feel the need to protect me?"

"Because we care about you—everyone you know. Alex, Cristina, Izzie, Mark. Me. Even your mother. She loves you. You're loved, Meredith."

"That's not an excuse, Derek. You can't make decisions in my life just because you don't like what I'm doing."

The moment of realization settles down upon me and I know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that I'm falling in love with her. It all makes sense. My intentions with Melissa and Sasha were the old me; they were part of an era _before_ Meredith existed in my life. The wild, disgusting playboy; the entitled male who took anything offered. Before Meredith, I would never have thought twice about having sex with both girls. I wouldn't have cared if I found a girl beneath Matt in Mark's guest room. I would have high fived him, actually, and congratulated him on being a rock star. But the girl beneath Matt wasn't some random drunk girl; she was Meredith.

I should have known earlier, really. Or maybe I did know. Alright, I've known for a while that I care about her more than a friend. I've known since day one, I guess, but the solid, horrifying realization that it's in fact love—now that's something much grander than I had thought. The defining moment, of course, was the night I picked up Sara at Owen's birthday party. I could have had her that night. She wanted me to take her, but I couldn't. I couldn't because all I was thinking about was Meredith. I imagined her home alone, watching hours of television and eating cold pizza. I imagined being without her. And then I imagined being with her. It's all I could think about. I wanted to kiss her then. I wanted much more, but the laws wouldn't allow it. I now know that's as untrue as anything.

The real truth is: I'm different. She's made me different. She's changed me without even knowing and the gratitude I have for her is impossible to measure. I'm falling in love and changing and molding myself into someone new, and all I want to do is keep her safe and happy.

But I'm selfish by nature, and she needs to know how much she's changed me.

I'm too shocked by the realization that I might love Meredith to notice her slipping past me. By the time I realize she's gone, the door is shut behind her and the elevator is taking her down to the ground level. I rush to pull on my pants and button my shirt—I even throw a wave to Mark—but by the time I reach the lobby, and then the subway, Meredith's nowhere to be found. I call her three times, but she doesn't pick up. She's ignoring me. Or maybe she left her phone behind. It doesn't matter because I don't know where she's gone and I can't let her slip through my fingers.

I flag down a cab to take me to my apartment. I watch as we head down 7th past 49th, 48th, 47th, but it feels too slow. I'm antsy. Surely she's gone to my apartment. Where else could she be?

Meredith's not in the apartment when I get home. There's no sign of her. I call again and hear a beep from her bedroom. On her bed, beside the hair dryer, is her phone. I press my back to the door frame and stare into the darkness of her space. Where else could she be?

New York hasn't been a friendly place for Meredith—Perry Street, Washington Square Park, Central Park—they've all held bad memories for her. She's only been safe in one place: my apartment. Where else would she have gone?

And then I remember the one place that was safe; the one place we had a good day.

Manhattan Beach isn't safe at night.

I catch the closest cab, and after an argument with the driver, he agrees to drive me all the way out to the beach. The drive takes forever. For some reason, I bring Meredith's phone and all I want to do is keep calling and calling. I don't look through her phone because I have no right. Meredith should be able to give me only the information she wants me to know. But I want to look so badly. I want to see who she's communicating with. I want to see who she texts when we watch TV together or whose Facebook she still follows. I keep the phone nestled in my pocket.

As we reach the beach, I notice a few cars still parked in the lot. Most everyone is probably an angler, trying to catch a few fish. Occasionally, you'll find a homeless person trying to find food in the trash cans and hoping to barter for a fish. I hope the heat has driven them away. I pay the cabbie and exorbitant rate and hop out of the car. Luckily, the parking lot is well-lit all through the night, but as soon as you stray from the comforting spheres of light, you're plunged into the dark unknown of the shore.

Just as I guessed, the beach is littered with night fisherman. They set up their midnight camp with chairs, coolers full of beer, and snacks, ready to fish until the early morning. I notice a dark figure down the beach, sitting right where the shoreline starts to curve, but as I approach, I realize it's a couple in an embrace. I look further out, but I doubt Meredith would have strayed so far. I head towards the other end of the beach and find only fishers, but just before I turn around, I look up into the lifeguard post and see an outline. I walk down, with my shoes in my hand, and approach the stand. "Meredith?" I ask against the wind.

She sniffles. "Derek?"

I feel all-consuming relief. "I'm coming up," I warn, not like I'd turn away if she asked.

Meredith shifts on the bench to give me room, so I slide in beside her. I dig her phone from my pocket and set it on her knee. I can barely make her out in the darkness, but I can tell her hair is tousled from the wind. "I didn't look through it. I just thought you might want it."

She palms her phone. "How'd you find me?"

I stare out into the inky ocean darkness. I feel the sand building between my toes. My hair already sticks with sea salt. "You weren't at the apartment."

Meredith nods. Her jaw is set and her mouth is downturned.

"You're not a slut," I whisper.

"You didn't mean it," she says and forgives me. I'm relieved all over again. "Why did you say it, though?"

I'm having that moment all over again—the moment I know we're more than just friends. And the only way I can explain why I said what I did, is to admit to her what I know.

Meredith stares at me and I can just barely make out the shape of her face from the glow of the city. She blinks and her eyelashes fall against her cheek with a whisper. She wets her lips and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. It's easy to forget she's only seventeen. Running has aged her, or maybe a drunken mother and a suicidal father have expedited the process. It doesn't matter. Whatever the reason, Meredith seems older than she should. It hurts to think of her as jaded already, but she is. How could she not be?

Fear builds in my stomach. Fear of rejection. But I decide then, even if Meredith doesn't want me back, I'll keep her safe under my roof. I'll help her in anyway. And I'll never turn my back on her.

"I said what I said about you, and acted like I did, because…" my voice floats away in the wind. Now, in the darkness, is the time to tell her, but I can't get the words out.

"Derek?"

I lower my eyes to my lap. Why is it so difficult to finally admit to her how I feel?

"When I first found you, all I felt was fear," I begin. "I didn't know what I had stepped into and I knew it was a bad choice to bring you into my life, but I couldn't just leave you there." I meet her eyes. "I don't know when it changed from fear, though. It didn't take long." I smile to myself. "You're like a wildfire, all-consuming, but beautiful to look at. You're warm and a force to be reckoned with. Letting you leave after we kissed on the rooftop was the hardest thing I've ever done." I stare at my clasped hands. Meredith is silent beside me, but she never looks away.

"The reason I was angry tonight was because Matt doesn't deserve to see you like that. He doesn't deserve to have you like that, because you deserve better than a drunken hookup with a douche bag like him. I was jealous," I admit in a whisper.

Meredith's voice cracks when she says, "How?"

I meet her eyes. Her lips look cracked from the salt air. "How what?"

"How could you be jealous? The girls you were about to…" she looks away finally.

"Those girls were part of how I used to be before you. They were exactly the kind of women I used to pursue—fast, easy, heavily discovered territory. They're like the Times Square of women—flashy and bright, but everyone has been there." Meredith smiles. "You're not like that," I whisper.

"What am I like?" she asks, but she's not fetching for compliments; I can tell Meredith desperately needs to know how I see her to really understand her worth.

"You…" I gaze across her face. I'll never truly understand her beauty because every time I look at her, she grows more beautiful. "You're perfect. You're an undiscovered alcove at the end of a beach. You're untouched and unique—beautiful and mysterious. You make me feel good. When I see you, something in the pit of my stomach springs to life—as if it didn't exist until you walked into my life. I'm amazed by you. Your strength of character and the certainty you have. You're brilliant and I expect you'll achieve wonderful things in your life. And I want to be there when you do."

Meredith holds my gaze, but I can see the tears in her eyes. I've pushed too far. I've said too much. She's not interested in me and I've made a fool of myself.

She takes my hand, her phone long forgotten. "I've been in love with you for so long," she whispers.

It feels like every single nerve-ending in my body has been set ablaze. I smile wider than I ever have and laughter bubbles through my chest. "Meredith," I whisper and drag my thumb along her lips—mostly to find them in the dark. I lean in, keeping my finger pressed to her only to replace it with my mouth.

She comes to life in my arms and pulls herself closer. I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her body to mine. Our lips move in synchronized waves and after a moment, I open her mouth with my tongue, tasting her for the first time in weeks. Our desperation is heightened from our original embrace and I can barely focus. I hold the back of her head, just below her hair line, and feel each movement of her jaw as she kisses me. Her neck is hot beneath my hands and her hair is soft and silky. I lavish the inside of her mouth and can taste the traces of alcohol. Meredith kisses me back just as fully, and her hands travel up my chest and across my shoulders. Our thighs are pressed next to one another and all I want is to be closer to her, but I can't draw her into my lap.

Meredith's hip turns toward me and her bone presses against my side. A soft, quiet groan passes through her mouth and into mine. I skim my hand down along her side, feeling the outline of her breast, only to rest my palm against her hip. I pull away for air and Meredith draws her bottom lip into her mouth. I kiss her teeth away and pull her lip in-between mine. She cups my ear with a sigh and her breath washes across my face. She holds my thigh, about halfway up, and I have to control the stirring in my jeans.

"Should we go home?" she asks as I kiss across her cheeks.

I pull away, my hands still holding her hips; her hands resting on my thighs. I brush her hair back behind her ears. "Meredith, I—" I can't sleep with you yet. I'm afraid of pushing you away. I'm in love with you, too. There are too many things to say, and I'm afraid of them all.

"Just to sleep, Derek," she smirks. She lifts her hand to press against my heart. "I'm tired."

I laugh and take her hand, standing up with her beside me. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty."

I climb down the ladder first, Meredith followed closely behind. She's shaky as she climbs down, so I hold onto her hips. It's hard not to stare at her ass when it's right in front of my face. Meredith hops down on the sand next to me. "I saw that," she glares at me, a smile tugging across her lips.

"Saw what?"

"Don't play games with me, Derek Shepherd." She leans in and presses her lips to mine.

"I wouldn't dare Meredith Grey," I kiss along her jaw to her ear. I can feel her cheek flush. "Come on," I lace my fingers with hers, "it's going to take forever to find a cab."

We walk back to the parking lot and as luck would have it, a yellow cab is waiting under a street lamp. Meredith falls asleep before we even reach my apartment, but I'm satiated to just watch her sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**I had the _hardest_ time with this update. Seriously. I do have to thank merderluvr and judempeo for being just absolutely lovely. Both send me messages of encouragement, which really helped me focus. And while I love all my readers equally, you two are the rock stars for this week and I'm dedicating this to you :)**

**Happy (almost) weekend!**

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><p>A strange thing is happening to me. A strange feeling of lightness. A strange urge to whistle while I cook breakfast. It's irrational and probably irritating to anyone who isn't me, but the lightness and the whistling make me grin. I'm happy. Like really, really happy.<p>

Last night happened. Of course it happened, but usually, when something really good happens, I've only dreamt it. But Mark's party, and the beach, and kissing Meredith all happened. I grin into my omelet pan. I should be hungover and drowsy from booze, but I can't feel anything but true unabashed happiness.

Meredith sleeps in her room and I woke up alone in mine. That's how it should be for now. Temptations are too high and we're still at the beginning phase. We need a few days to figure out how to be around one another once we've broken through the steel wall of friendship. I don't really know how to act around her now; should I greet her with a hug and a kiss, or will we just stand awkwardly across the room? Can I run my hands down along her ass as I kiss her or will that be pushing it too far?

I must admit though, for all my stress, I'm excited to take each step with Meredith.

The day is shaping up to be a beautiful one. The humidity is way down and big, fluffy clouds drift across the perfectly blue sky. The trees have been thriving in the intermitted rain and blazing sun, so a stroll along the streets of downtown provides a nice change between the warm sun and the leafy branches. It's a perfect day for a walk and a nice meal outside. It's the perfect day for a first real date.

My phone rings on the counter. _Mom_. I'm too happy to be annoyed that she's calling so early on a Sunday. "Hi Mom."

"_Good morning, Derek. I'm surprised you're awake."_

"Then why are you calling me so early?" I tease.

Mom laughs, _"Touché. What are your plans for today?"_

I want to shout my news from the rooftops. I want to tell my mom and my sisters and my father about Meredith. I want them to understand how happy I am, but I know—above all else—I have to keep Meredith a secret from everyone, especially my nosey family. If they dig too much into her story, they'll be lead right into Ellis's trap.

So I lie, "I'm not doing anything. Just hanging out."

"_Perfect. Your dad and I were thinking of coming down today. Can we take you out to dinner?"_

My stomach flips and I practically knock the pan off my stove. "I can't. I have plans."

"_You just told me you're not doing anything."_

"Well yeah, right now, but I have plans with Mark tonight."

"_Derek,"_ she sighs, and I feel a lecture coming on, _"don't you think you've been spending an awful lot of time with Mark? Maybe you should meet some new people."_

My mom is seriously ruining my morning buzz. In fact, I feel my hangover coming on. "That's why we go out, Mom, to meet other people."

"_And I'm guessing you're busy for lunch, too."_

Her tone reflects her disappointment. I can't tell her I'm seeing someone or she'll jump me for every ounce of information she can get. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to sound as disappointed as I can with the prospect of not meeting them for lunch. "I wish I could, but Mark has tickets to this show and I don't think I would have enough time to give you guys."

"_You're almost as bad of a liar as your father. Fine, we won't see you today, but I expect to see you next weekend, okay? We'll take you out. Celebrate school starting in a few weeks."_

I cringe at the thought of going back to school. "Sounds perfect, Mom. Hey, have you heard from Sophia?" If there's anything I'm good at, it's distracting my mom from topics I don't want to get into.

For the first few minutes, I listen intently. Sophia has returned to London and both Brynn and Max are well. Sophia apparently has a new job and is making almost double what she was before. But after that, I can't focus because Meredith opens her door and steps into my living room in blue and white striped shorts and a pale pink tank top. Her hair is a wreck and tangled along her shoulders, and she looks miserably tired, but she's beautiful just the same. A sleepy smile graces her lips as she crosses the room towards me.

We stand for just a moment assessing one another, but after more than a few seconds without touching her, I feel a familiar pull and wrap my free arm around her waist. Meredith smiles and reaches one hand up to my neck, while the other she wraps around my bicep as I give my mom a few encouraging "hmms," "oh reallys," and "yeahs" to keep her at bay.

"Who?" Meredith mouths.

"My mom," I whisper as quietly as possible.

I run my hand up the back of her shirt to feel her soft skin. She presses the entire length of her body to mine and I forget about my mom and Sophia and the eggs cooking on the stove. I lean down and press my mouth to Meredith's. Her eyes flutter closed just as I make contact. Her mouth is especially soft in the morning. Her hand falls from my arm to my waist, as she draws me nearer. I open my mouth to hers and taste her. Kissing Meredith solidifies that last night wasn't a dream.

"_Derek? Derek?"_ my mom asks frantically in my ear.

I tear myself away from Meredith—from her lips and out of her arms—and wipe my mouth. Meredith grins at me. "Yeah, I'm here." I narrow my eyes at her and turn off burner beneath the now blackened omelets.

"_Where were you?"_

"I dropped my phone." Meredith snorts a laugh behind me. I turn to face her and lean back against the sink. It's a beautiful sight to see her so early in the morning. "Mom, I should go."

She sighs on the other line. _"Oh alright. I can tell you're distracted. Call me later?"_

"I'll call you tomorrow, Mom. I promise. Love you."

"_I love you, too. And Derek—"_

I hang up before she can continue prattling on about Nancy or Amelia or Sophia some more and I slide my phone into my back pocket on silent. Meredith crosses the kitchen and stands in front of me again. "You're really mean," I accuse of her.

"You kissed me if I remember correctly."

"Well then," I reach forward and wrap my arms around her again, "I guess I should kiss you again, shouldn't I?"

Meredith tips her face up to me. I push the hair away from her face, making sure to not actually thread my fingers through her knotted hair, and I lean down to kiss her. We're already so domesticated, kissing in the kitchen while our burnt breakfast sizzles in the cooling pan. It feels like we should have been this way forever. It feels natural to be kissing Meredith—as if any other contact, a whisper or a touch, pales in comparison to the simple, gratifying feeling of her mouth pressed upon mine. A desperate, sexy sound bubbles up through her throat and her grip on my waist tightens.

I turn us so Meredith is pressed against the sink. She bends her back and I follow, holding her up in my arms. My hands travel across her back and butt, no longer afraid of pushing her too far. If anything, she'll push me too far. But in this moment, the heat, the want, the passion is allowed to overwhelm us and I bask in the feeling of kissing Meredith silly.

I don't know how long we kiss, but when I finally pull away, my mouth is hot and hers is red. I keep her against me and suddenly feel like my apartment might be hotter than I previously thought.

"You're a very good kisser," Meredith plays with the hem of my shirt.

"Likewise, Grey. How'd you sleep?"

Meredith runs her fingers along the edge of my sweatpants—which I never wore before taking Meredith in—and the feeling is driving me crazy. "Bad, but I blame all the drinking. It probably would have been better if I slept in your room," she says in the sexiest way. It's like she's changed into a whole different—drastically confident and hot—person. I never expected this side of Meredith to exist, but I'm enjoying seeing the new her.

I smirk at her. "Maybe that can be arranged tonight."

She leans in and kisses me again and if it's meant to be chaste, it quickly transforms into something needy once again.

By the time we finally untangle ourselves from one another, my stomach is growling. I consult the cold, burnt eggs with a sigh. "I was distracted," I offer as an explanation.

"I'm not hungry anyway," Meredith claims as she pours herself a cup of coffee I had made earlier.

"You're hungover. The best food to beat a hangover is an egg sandwich." She scrunches her nose over the brim of her coffee cup. "I know the best place to get them."

Meredith shakes her head. "I really don't want food."

"Humor me, then. I'm starving. We'll go for a walk and then if you need to lie around and watch bad movies all day, that's what we'll do. But tonight, I need you awake and ready."

"Ready for what?" she quirks an eyebrow.

I cup her cheek, finding her completely overwhelming. "We're going on a date."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Go get dressed. I'll buy you a great cup of coffee on the way."

Meredith walks off to her room with a grin on her face, mirroring my own mood as I walk off to mine. Within minutes, we're both decent. I grab my wallet, phone, and keys, and Meredith follows me out the door and into a beautiful Sunday morning. As we reach Hudson Street, I take her hand. Meredith squeezes my palm in response.

It seems the Village has come alive with the sun. For weeks we've been overpowered by heat and humidity and having a beautiful day without the weight of moisture in the air has seriously changed my stomping ground into a busy, lively place. Children walk hand-in-hand with their parents, heading off to museums, beaches, and parks. Couples walk their dogs, street performers scream into megaphones and jam on the drums, and food carts roll into place. Right around Houston Street, I steer Meredith towards the best coffee in the city: Jacque Torres' chocolate shop.

The scent of chocolate in the dimly lit dual storefront and factory lingers in every corner. The walls are glass, showcasing the factory behind, and metal shelves display all the confections. I head to the coffee counter, though, and allow Meredith to place her order before I place mine.

"I can't tell if the smell of chocolate is making me hungry or nauseous."

"With a hangover, it's always a _very_ fine line."

Meredith scoots out of someone's way and snuggles up next to me. "I haven't drank in a long time."

"Technically, you shouldn't be drinking at all," I smile.

"Promise you won't tell on me?"

I grab our coffees, handing one to Meredith. "I promise," which I seal with a kiss.

Our morning continues with egg sandwiches—which Meredith eats with me—at Pier 42 overlooking the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Jersey City and Hoboken. A few times, Meredith turns green and I think she's going to lose her breakfast, but we make it through without reliving the stale alcohol of the previous evening. Meredith talks on about school in the fall and her plans, and I listen carefully. I give insight when she seems to want it, but I keep my mouth shut to anything else. Meredith needs to figure out her life on her own and she has to know I'm supportive of anything she wants to do.

The rest of our afternoon is spent on the couch. We watch a marathon of the first season of _Lost_, which Meredith hates, and our limbs remain tangled together. We both sleep for a while. We drink lots of water and swear to never eat again.

But around five her hangover begins to clear. Meredith gets up to shower and I call in a reservation to my favorite restaurant Centro Vinotecca. I shower after her and my bathroom smells like flowers. I have to take a few deep breaths before sliding out of the steamy room; the scent is intoxicating.

"I have nothing to wear!" Meredith calls from her open door. I slide into my own room to avoid toeing over any imaginary lines.

"Wear the dress from last night."

"It smells like beer, Derek."

I pull on a clean pair of simple black boxers and towel dry my hair. "It'll be fine."

Meredith says nothing and all I can assume is she's listened to me. I dress in gray pants, a black button up shirt, and shiny black shoes. It's too hot for a jacket or tie, and the restaurant doesn't really call for it. I glance at the clock; we still have almost an hour.

"I'll be right back," Meredith calls and I slip into the living room just as she steps out the front door.

"Meredith!" I yell after her. In the stairwell, I hear her flip flops smacking the steps on her way down. "Where are you going?"

Meredith looks up the stairwell with a grin on her face. "I can't wear that dress. I need to buy a new one."

"Let me give you money."

"I'll see you in a few," she winks and disappears.

While Meredith's gone, I finally clean up the kitchen from the breakfast fiasco of the morning. Everything has a stale scent and I left the milk out, but besides that, the kitchen isn't all that much worse for the wear than it was before. I also rearrange the spice cabinet, so I can actually find more than just Italian seasoning every time I open the door and I check all the food in the refrigerator for expiration. I notice my tile floor is littered with crumbs, so I break out my Swiffer and clean. As I put the mop away, I check the time and we only have twenty minutes until our reservation; Meredith has been gone for forty.

I pace the living room and call her phone. It rings from the next room.

I curse and chuck my phone onto the couch. I pace some more. I check Meredith's room—for what, I have no idea—and I notice the dress from the night before laid carefully over the comforter. It really does smell like beer and smoke. Her shoes are tipped over, but look perfectly presentable for our night out. Her makeup and other products are strewn across the desk. I noticed earlier I now have tampons under my sink. Strangely enough, it didn't freak me out too much. The bed is unmade and on the night stand is a destroyed paperback. I'm about to pick it up when the front door swings open.

"Meredith?"

She stands in her doorway wearing a red dress. I stare unabashedly down her body, taking in the delicate straps that slide across her shoulders and the way the dress lays flat against her torso and flares at her hips into a full, pretty skirt. She wears skin colored heels and her hair falls in waves over her shoulders. Her lips are painted pale pink and her eyes are dark with makeup. My stomach twists with desire.

"Sorry I'm late. The guy at the store put me in a million dresses."

"You look beautiful."

She breaks into a wide smile. "You look good," her voice is quiet. She steps into her room. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you were snooping." Her arms wrap around my waist. "You smell good," she whispers and lays her head against my shoulder.

I hold her by the waist and kiss her beneath her ear, right on her pulse. She sighs. "I wanted to see what you were reading."

"_The Grapes of Wrath_. It was the last book I was assigned in school," she says as an explanation.

Meredith's hands slide down into my back pockets. I sigh. "We should go."

"I just want another second like this, okay?"

I say nothing, but grant Meredith—and me—another moment wrapped around each other. Her body is so close I can feel her heartbeat coming through my chest. Her hair is soft against my face and her breath is warm on my neck. The intimacy is palpable. I feel equal parts her protector and the person to finally allow her to live freely. I feel responsible for giving her the best life I can. I want to fulfill the role her mother never did and her father could never take on. I want to make her feel safe and wanted.

But at the same time as I desire to never let anything happen to her, I know Meredith is protecting me. She's protecting me from the poisons of my lifestyle. From the animosity of having more money than I should and the privilege I feel for growing up as I did. She's keeping me humble and down-to-earth. She's changing me from a person who believes everything is owed to me, to a man who knows when to count my blessing. And on my long list of blessings, Meredith is currently number one.

"Okay," she kisses my neck. "Let's go."

I follow Meredith down the steps out of my apartment and try not to stare at her ass the entire way. I fail, miserably.

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><p>The restaurant is busy, but with our reservation, we sit immediately. Our table is right next to the open windows to the street, tucked away in a corner. The table is outfitted with a white table cloth and a red candle. Meredith looks beautiful with candlelight glowing against her skin. I order a glass of red wine, while she orders a club soda—probably just to feel a little bit older.<p>

"I like this place."

"I thought you might."

"How many first dates have you brought here?" she jokes.

I reach across the table and link my fingers through hers. "None, actually. I've always wanted to come here, though."

Meredith smiles and only tugs her hand away when the waiter returns with our drinks. We place our orders, hand over the menus, and I raise my glass to Meredith. "To you," I say.

She clinks her glass to mine. "Why me?"

"Why not?" I shrug and sip my wine.

"There's something insanely sexy about you drinking wine right now," she whispers across the table.

I laugh and set down my glass. "You're rocking that club soda, yourself." I add a wink.

In the time between ordering and our food actually arriving, we laugh and joke and flirt. Nothing has changed much, except the need to be touching Meredith and the desire to be kissing her. The conversation is just as honest as ever, with a bit more flirtation sprinkled throughout. It feels good to spend a lot of time with someone other than Mark and my family. They know me on a completely different level than Meredith, but it's beginning to feel like Meredith knows me more honestly than anyone else.

Our food arrives and silence ensues—which is always a sign of a good meal. "Try this," I say across the table and feed Meredith a bite of steak. She smiles and her eyes close.

"I have never tasted anything so good," she says and offers me a bite of her lamb chop.

When we finish, I sit back full and happy.

"I want dessert," she announces.

"Of course you do."

We browse the menu, but with every suggestion I make to split a dessert, she glares at me. We end up ordering a chocolate cake and a gelato with fresh fruit. Meredith eats both and licks the spoon and fork clean. I just watch her.

As the waiter clears the plates, I regale Meredith with the story of our trip to Australia right after the deal was struck with IKEA, and go into detail about being lost in the Outback. "My dad had no idea where we were going. He had refused to hire an actual tour guide, so there we are five kids and two adults absolutely lost in the desert. My dad seriously considered peeing into a bottle and trying to turn it to water because he thought we'd never be found."

"But you were."

"Yeah, like twenty minutes after he peed into a bottle. Still, to this day, we won't let him live it down."

"It must have been nice growing up with so many siblings."

"Most days it was, but the best part was I was the only son. My dad and I did a lot together—fishing, hiking, swimming, weekend trips away. He did it all with my sisters too, but it was always just the two of us, roasting hot dogs under the stars and telling the crudest jokes we could. I miss it."

"Why don't you do that now?"

I shrug, "I don't know. We just stopped. After the Ikea thing, he didn't have much time and I was a teenager. Naturally, being a teenager, I didn't care about spending time with my dad."

"You should spend more time with him. You never know when time will run out."

And then I remember Meredith's dad taking his own line. "Oh Meredith, I'm sorry." I take her hand.

"I wasn't talking about me," she shakes her head. "Not really. I probably would have been the same way if my dad had lived until I was a teenager, but even so, I think it's important to at least see him. Even if you don't want to fish or hike—go for a drive somewhere. Spend a night at a baseball game. You never know how the two of you might reconnect."

I grin, "How is my girlfriend so smart?"

"Girlfriend?" her eyes widen.

"Too soon?"

Meredith thinks for a second and then shakes her head. "No. Actually, it's kind of perfect."

I can't help but feel elated. "Would you like to go on a walk with me?"

Meredith nods, finishes the last bite of cake, and we exit the restaurant. We walk toward the Hudson, her arm looped through mine. I walk slowly since she's wearing heels, but if her feet hurt she doesn't complain.

"Would it upset you if I asked you something about your dad?"

"No."

We wait at a crosswalk and I smile at her. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I was curious. Do you know why your dad…"

Meredith finishes for me, "Killed himself?" I smile sadly. "I have theories, but nothing solid." We cross the street and she continues, "I think my mom had a big part in his death. It was something she did or said. She didn't mean for him to die because of what she said, I'm sure, but she pushed him to that. I can't think of anything else that would have that kind of effect on him."

"And there was no note?"

"Not that I saw, but I was young. If there was one, my mom probably has it. Before I left, I would sneak through her things, but I could never find it."

"Where do you think she'd keep it?"

Meredith shrugs. "In a lockbox somewhere. Knowing my mom, it's in a bank safe or somewhere else that only she has a key to."

"And she'd probably keep the key on her at all times."

"Ellis Grey is many things and being protective of her good name is probably number one." We reach the waterfront and Meredith leans across the railing. "The very worst part of it is that I deserve a right to know what happened to my father, but no one will tell me anything—least of all my mother. Once I'm eighteen I have a right to his personal files—medical files, police records—everything, but all it'll do is confirm he died from an overdose of pain meds and booze. I still won't know why."

"Maybe one day you can ask your mother."

Meredith reluctantly nods, "Maybe." She shifts her body and sides up next to me. "Let's talk about something else."

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. "What do you want to talk about?"

Each time she blinks, I feel her eyelashes slide down along my neck. "Nothing, actually. Can we just stand for a while?"

I nod and stare out along the water. "Of course. We can stand as long as you like."

And we do. Meredith remains pressed against me as we stare out along the Hudson River. All I can think about is her father taking his own life while knowing his daughter would be home in only a few hours. It doesn't seem right. If Meredith's father was as standup as she says, he would have never compromised his daughter's childhood by allowing her to find his body. Something has to be going on.

Ellis Grey had more of a hand in her husband's death than Meredith thinks.

I'm sure of it.

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><p><strong>Follow me (for no reason at all because I'm not that exciting) on tumblr (joctober)!<br>**

**:)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello to my lovely readers! I've been very good at updating up until the last two chapters, but I assure you I will not be giving up. My life has just become very busy, so you can probably expect an update every other week. **

**Happy Hump Day!  
><strong>

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><p>With only two weeks until school starts, working at NYSTEM feels more monotonous than ever. I'm distracted all day long. Firstly, I have Meredith to think about. She seems happy enough to be on her own, but I hope she's not bored with the hours and hours of time alone. Secondly, I worry about school. With my senior year right around the corner, I'll be doubling up to finish my undergrad classes and beginning my med school ones. My work load is about to triple from the last semester and I barely made it through with my original work load. Trying to juggle my time is going to be impossible.<p>

The third worry surrounds Thatcher Grey's suicide. I haven't mentioned any of my concerns to Meredith, but I can't help but focus on the facts Meredith has given me. She found her father dead in the bathroom after ingesting pills and alcohol. Her mother showed up just seconds later and forced her from the room. Meredith waited outside while the ambulance took her already dead father away and she never heard about him again.

But then there's the information she's given me about the person her father is. Was. As her mother easily overlooked Meredith, Thatcher swooped in and took on the role of mother and father. He took Meredith away for the weekend and made sure she grew up happy and loved. No father—no matter how sick—would ever allow his child to find him dead. Either Thatcher didn't know Meredith's schedule, which seems very unlikely, or his death wasn't as cut and dry as everyone claimed.

It's none of my business, really. Thatcher died years ago and the case has since been closed, but I can't help but want to give Meredith the gift of knowing her father would never have left her intentionally.

The question that keeps me distracted every waking minute is: what _did_ happen to Thatcher?

While I catalog blood samples, I mull over the facts again and again. There's no way to investigate, especially since his death was ruled a suicide, but all I want to do is get my hands on his death certificate. Maybe there will be more information or even an ounce of speculation.

As I leave work, I Google the number for the Boston coroner's office.

"_Chief Medical Examiner's office of Boston, how may I direct your call?"_

"Hi. I'd like to speak to someone about a death that occurred a few years ago."

"_Name of the deceased?"_

"Thatcher Grey."

"_One moment please."_

I walk past my subway stop while the typically awful elevator music plays in the background. After a few seconds, and passing two grown men walking ducks on leashes, the phone picks up. _"Sir, could you please let me know your relationship to the deceased?"_

I think about lying, but I know with my limited knowledge, I would never get away with it. "I'm a friend." The last thing I need to do is drag Meredith into this.

"_I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Grey's death record is sealed to the public."_

"Aren't all death certificates available to the public?"

"_Traditionally, yes, but some records are sealed, such as Mr. Grey's. You would have to be family to have access to it."_

"I just need to know what the coroner ruled as the cause of death."

"_I'm sorry, but I can't give you any further information."_

"Can I speak to your manager?"

"_That would be the coroner, and he'll tell you the exact same information. Like I said, if a family member wanted more information on Mr. Grey's death, he or she could contact us directly and share that information with you. But unfortunately, my hands are tied."_

I pause beside the next subway stop and run a hand across my forehead. "Yeah, okay. Thanks anyway."

"_Have a nice day."_ Click.

As if I wasn't curious enough before, now I'm completely suspicious.

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><p>Meredith's sits on the front stoop as I approach. On her knee rests a bottle of nail polish and she focuses on painting the big toe of her right foot. She looks completely adorable.<p>

"Hey."

She looks up with a smile. "Hi."

I lean down and brush my lips across hers. It's a greeting, soft and simple. I sit down beside her, watching as she turns her attention back to her nails. "I didn't know you were a nail polish girl."

Meredith smirks and pulls the brush away to inspect her work. "There's a lot you don't know about me." He leans forward to continue. "Izzie always liked doing pedicures. I'm not a fingernail polish person, but I liked painting my toenails. It's my one girly hobby." She caps the polish and holds her freshly painted purple toes out for me to see. "You like?"

"Yes, very sexy."

She leans in for another kiss, which I grant her. Meredith's lips part and if not for the busy street before us, I would have taken full advantage of kissing her. "How was your day?" she asks as I pull away.

"Boring. I can't wait to be done."

"But this internship is important, right?"

"Absolutely. It's one of the most sought after in the field, but I don't really have any interest in experimental medicine. Even so, it'll look great on my resume one day."

"Why'd you take it if you have interest in stem-cell research?"

I take her left hand and lace my fingers through hers. "My dad is good friends with the director of NYSTEM. It just seemed natural that I'd take him up on his offer. During my next internship, I'm going to choose something closer to what I want to do."

"And what's that?"

"Cardio or neuro—you know, brains."

Meredith smiles, "My mother _is_ a surgeon. I probably know more than you do." I narrow my eyes at the insinuation. Meredith continues, "I see you doing cardio."

"If I remember correctly, you had some pretty interesting theories about each surgical field."

"Oh, I do, but that's not why I think you should do cardio. I watched the hospital for years and it always seemed like the cardio surgeons cared just a bit more. That's you. You care. The heart and brain are equally important, but it's the heart that physically reacts—it skips a beat or beats faster. I think holding a human heart in your hand might be the coolest thing ever."

I can't help but break into a smile. I run my fingers through her hair to grip the back of her neck. She blinks at me. "You're so smart." I kiss her lips. "How did I end up with such a smart girlfriend?"

Meredith smiles against my mouth. "You're a smart guy, too, so you made a well-educated choice."

"Is that what this is?"

"Among other things," she whispers and kisses me again.

"And how long do these public displays usually go on?" Mark asks as he shadows over us.

Meredith sighs and stretches her legs out in front of her. "Hi Mark." I simply glare at my friend.

"Meredith, it's so good to see your face not plastered to this one," he motions to me. "Are you ready to go?"

"Go? Go where?"

Meredith stands up, handing me the nail polish. "We have a date." She leans down and kisses me, cupping my ear. "Will you bring this upstairs?"

"Wait, what's going on?" I ask Mark.

"I'm taking Meredith out to dinner."

I stand up, feeling my anxiety level rising. "Why?"

"Because you and I are the only people Meredith knows here and the amount of time she's spending with you is sickening. She needs to experience other people and places."

"By other places do you mean you're taking her to some sketchy part of the Bronx?"

Mark rolls his eyes at me. "Chill man, I won't let anything bad happen. It's just a friendly dinner among friends."

"Really Derek," Meredith touches my arm, "its fine. We're just going to dinner."

I suddenly feel very ganged up on. I force a smile anyway. "Yeah, sure. Of course you should have dinner with Mark." It feels wrong even saying the words. "Have a nice time."

Meredith leans down and kisses me again. She closes my hand over her nail polish. "We'll be two hours, tops."

"Make it three in case I get lucky."

My jaw snaps. "Mark," Meredith groans, "please be nice."

"Fine. I'll have her home for dessert," Mark winks.

Meredith colors. "Yeah, on that note… let's go. Bye Derek."

"Bye," I can't even pretend to smile.

I sit on my stoop for a long time, moping and feeling generally bad about everything, but after a while I retire to my apartment. With a pizza on its way and a six-pack cooling in the fridge, I lie down on the couch for two hours of wallowing.

There's no reason to be mad really, since nothing would ever happen between Mark and Meredith, but that thought that Meredith needs time with someone else—as if I'm not enough—makes me feel completely inadequate. I think myself in a circle—wondering if I'm smothering her or if the week we've been together has been it. Maybe she's had enough. And then I realize I am acting self-conscious, which is about as unattractive as I could ever be.

I sit up, deciding to feel happy that Mark has taken such a vested interest in keeping Meredith happy, and crack open my second beer just as the doorbell rings. I press the call-button, "Come on up."

After a few moments, the delivery guy knocks on my door. I'm counting out bills as I open the door, but standing on the other side isn't a pimply-faced teenager. Ellis Grey. I nearly drop the money in my hand.

"Derek Shepherd," she smiles, "may I come in?"

In a state of panic, I look towards Meredith's room, but find the door blessedly closed. "Yeah," I manage as soon as I find my voice.

Ellis steps past me and into my apartment, which suddenly feels much, much smaller. She's dressed just as a woman who has money would be dressed—in designer jeans, a perfectly dry-cleaned blouse, and diamonds in her ears and on her fingers.

I know it's rude to just stand and stare, but I honestly can't think of anything else to do.

Ellis looks around my apartment before facing me. "This place is nice. I guess your father made a tidy sum when IKEA bought his ideas."

"How did you know about that?"

"It's a matter of public record. In fact, your local newspaper did a front page article right after he received the deal. Everything following the deal makes sense: your older sisters transferring to better schools, your younger sister and yourself being enrolled in private school, the big move to Connecticut and the trip to Australia. It seems your parents were pretty generous in the beginning and became increasingly frugal."

"How do you know all this?"

Ellis eyes the second bedroom door and my stomach turns over. "I have a vested interest in your life, especially since my daughter has been living with you."

"I—"

"Please don't waste your breath with a lie. I know much more about your life than you know, Derek Christopher Shepherd. Like I know you have a reputation for being a big partier, which comes as no shock considering your close friendship with Mark Harrison Sloan. I hear you left various clubs and bars with no less than ten women in March of this year. Now, whether you slept with them all or not, that's up for debate. You're quite charming when you need to be. Of course none of that matters as much as my daughter's presence in your life."

"I haven't seen her," I manage to say.

Ellis smiles and it hauntingly resembles Meredith's. "Derek, you can't possibly think I'm that naïve. If I've done my research correctly, I understand you had dinner at Centro last Friday. On Saturday you and Meredith went to the beach with Mark and met three mutual friends—Owen Hunt, Addison Montgomery, and Preston Burke. Meredith wore a white bikini and you two were practically mating in the water."

"We weren't!"

She smiles. "Ah, honesty, it seems."

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to discuss Meredith's present situation, of course. May I sit?"

I think about telling her no, but the fact that she knows everything makes me feel sick. She has me by the balls and if I don't at least try to be nice, she can very easily rip Meredith away from me. And who knows what will happen to Meredith if she returns to her mother's care? "Yes," I say curtly.

Ellis lowers herself to the edge of the couch—the very couch I made out with Meredith on this morning.

"Will you join me?"

I begrudgingly sit down in the chair across from her.

"We seem to have a bit of a problem. You see, Meredith is a minor and what you're doing as of late could actually be considering kidnapping."

"You know I didn't kidnap her!"

"_I_ know that, but it doesn't mean the judicial system does." My face must read the shock I feel. "I'm not complaining to the police yet, Derek, but believe me, I will."

"You want something," I confirm.

Ellis nods, "Yes, I want my daughter back."

"That's not your choice."

"Being that she's a minor, it's completely my choice. You, on the other hand, are not related at all—which is good considering you're violating her body."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"If you're not sleeping with my daughter yet, I'm sure you will in the near future. Luckily for you, the laws in this state do not prohibit a twenty-one year old and a seventeen year old having sex—not that I approve. In fact, I think it would be highly inappropriate for you to take advantage of Meredith like that."

"I'm not sleeping with her."

Ellis grins, "Like I said…yet. Anyway, I'm not here to talk to you about your sexual relationships. I'm here because we both know it's time for Meredith to come home. I have a new place right off the park, so Meredith could still live in the city and be close to you. I won't stop your relationship, but I'd require that she spent every night in her own bed and not yours."

"And what about the fact that you abused her? Is she just expected to forget that?"

"Derek, you're a very smart young man, so I find it hard to believe that you can be so moronic. Do you really believe I hit my daughter?"

"She told me you did."

"And I suppose Meredith has never lied to you in the past? Believe what you will about me, Derek, but I'm not a monster. Meredith is a teenager, and being that you're not too far from that phase in your life either, I'd think you'd remember how incorrigible teenagers can be. Meredith was very angry back in Massachusetts, especially after her father died. I've tried my best, but unfortunately, my daughter is much more like me than I'd have imaged possible. She is stubborn and headstrong. Meredith doesn't like to follow rules and she certainly does not listen to me."

I shake my head, believing Meredith might have been a tough teenager, but not for a second allowing Ellis to manipulate me into thinking Meredith made her rocky relationship with her mother up. "So you weren't an alcoholic?"

"No."

"You're unbelievable. You come in here, threaten me, lie to me, and expect that I'll just consent. I'm not your subordinate; I'm not your child; and I don't have to listen to you."

"I've been very patient with you Derek. I've known where you lived the moment you showed up at my home. I've known Meredith has been living with you for weeks, but I've allowed this little charade to go on because I can tell she's happy with you. Which is why I'm willing to allow your relationship to continue when Meredith comes home."

"She is home."

Ellis shakes her head and I recognize the familiar look of disappointment on her face. "You're making this very difficult."

"She'll be eighteen in October. Just let her stay. You know she's here and safe. What difference does it make?"

"Meredith _will_ be eighteen in October, which is _precisely_ why I want her to return home now. She'll leave for good then, and I'll let her go, but for the next six weeks, I want to spend time with my daughter. I want her to understand how much I love her and I want her to _want_ to spend time with me in the future."

"That won't happen in six weeks."

"All I can do is try."

I stand up because I am tired of being on the same level of her. "Do you understand how unhappy she'll be if you make her come back?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then why do it?" I face Ellis.

She stands as well. "Meredith is my daughter, Derek. I want her to be happy, but I also know that she's been through a lot and what she really needs is family."

"She's been through a lot because you've put her through a lot!"

"This conversation is going in circles and I'm no longer patient. Meredith will be returned to her proper home by Sunday evening or I'll press charges. I'm sure you're aware of the severity of the charges I can press—harboring a runaway and kidnapping. The harboring is only a one year prison-term, but kidnapping is up to twenty-five years."

"You _know_ I didn't kidnap her."

"I don't know anything, Derek, because my daughter hasn't been around for four months to tell me. I'll see you Sunday. Enjoy your weekend."

Ellis opens my front door. "What about Thatcher?"

She turns. "What about him?"

"How did he die?"

"I'm sure Meredith told you; he committed suicide."

"And you just so happened to be there right after she found his body?"

Ellis narrows her eyes. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Mr. Shepherd, but I can assure you my husband's death was a suicide."

"Being a doctor, I'd think you'd be pretty good at masking someone's murder."

"Watch yourself, Derek. I wouldn't want anyone to be brought down by false accusations."

"I don't know anything, because I wasn't there," I reiterate her words back to her. "Meredith will not be returning to you and you can try to pin me for kidnapping, but it'll never happen. Go back to work Ellis and forget about getting Meredith back. When she's ready, she'll visit you, but I can guarantee it will not be before her birthday."

Ellis smirks, "Well then, I'll see you Monday as the police drag you from your home." She steps out of my apartment and slams the door behind her.

* * *

><p>I sit on the couch for the next hour while I wait out Meredith's return. I don't know what to do. I know I should tell her, but she'll return to her mother's house for my benefit and not her own. If I don't tell her, and I get carted away to jail on Monday, she'll be hurt that I didn't give her the chance to prevent my arrest.<p>

Being arrested really isn't on my short list of things I want to accomplish in my life. But I won't let Ellis win. However, if I am arrested, she wins. If I return Meredith, she wins. Either way, Ellis wins and Meredith and I both lose.

The apartment door opens and Meredith and Mark walk in all smiles. "Hey," Meredith greets and crosses the room towards me. She leans down and kisses me.

"You can wipe that hurt look off your face, Shep. We just went to dinner."

I force a smile. "Hey." I kiss her again.

"Okay, well I'll just see myself out."

Meredith pulls away. "Thanks again, Mark." She smiles wide.

"Anytime Grey." He winks and then nods at me. "See you later."

As Mark shuts the door, I turn my attention back to Meredith. She kicks off her shoes and drops her purse onto the floor. She climbs into my lap. "Hi again." Her fingers trace my brow.

"Hi to you, too." I feel better just having her here.

She leans in and I greedily press my mouth to hers. Maybe it's the knowledge that no matter what, our honeymoon phase—however short it was—is over, or maybe it's because I've wanted her from the beginning, but either way, all I want to do is have sex with Meredith. I run my hands up the back of her shirt, feeling the band of her bra, and scratch my nails beneath the fabric. She moans into my mouth and falls lax against my chest. I kiss across her cheeks as she says, "Oh my god that feels good." I kiss her mouth again, dragging my hands down to her hips.

Meredith's mood changes as well and she turns into me, straddling my lap. Her mouth is warm and demanding against mine as she senselessly kisses me. Her hips roll against mine and all manner of composure seems to evaporate quickly. Meredith tears her mouth from mine and kisses along my jaw before she tugs on my earlobe with her teeth. I expel a long sigh and close my eyes as she moves down along my neck. Her hands fist my shirt and her back hunches as she contorts to reach every angle. I slide my fingers up her sides, pausing just below her armpits and open my eyes just as her mouth presses to mine again.

In an instant, I have Meredith on her back against the couch. She hangs to my neck, our lips fused together. I kiss her neck and lavish her exposed collarbones. Her breathing is ragged. Meredith grabs the back of my shirt, just below the collar, and begins to tug. I help her remove my shirt and lay down on top of her to feel closer. She arches up into me, pressing her boobs to my chest. Her hands move along my bare skin and nothing has ever felt so good. Her lips find my shoulders and biceps and all I can do is watch her as she attentively explores my body.

I reach under her shirt again and begin to push it up over her belly. She sits up on her elbows so I can remove her shirt. I immediately latch onto her collarbones again before descending down her body to the valley between her breasts. I kiss the top of each covered mound and palm her left one evenly. "Oh god," she sighs and rolls her head back. Her hips continue to roll into me and I feel my erection pressing painfully against my jeans. I run my hand along myself, between us, and feel her warmth against the back of my hand. I palm her then through her shorts and she gasps.

Meredith reaches up and drags my mouth back to hers while I touch her. She wraps her left leg around my back and digs her heel into my spine. Our tongues fight inside her mouth and the passion of it all is overwhelming. I don't even think when I unbutton her shorts and slide my hand in to make skin-on-skin contact, and as soon as I do, Meredith grabs my forearm and digs her nails into my skin. I pull back to look at her—to observe her lust. Her opens her eyes to me and pants while I discover her. I slide a finger inside her and feel like crumbling from the heat under my skin.

I withdraw my hand with an audible groan from her. Instead, I reach up and unlatch her bra, but just as I'm about to expose herself to me, I think of Ellis.

I pull away.

Meredith sits up on her elbows. "What's wrong?" she pants.

I stand up and run a hand through my hair. I'm still hard and I still want her, but Ellis's words—Ellis's poison—has infiltrated my brain. I turn away from her so I can calm down, but after a minute, Meredith is pressed to my side.

"Is is something I did?"

"No, of course not," I reassure her and turn. She's put her bra back on, but her shirt remains on the floor and her shorts remain open.

"Is it too fast? I know we haven't talked about this, but I'm ready."

I cup her cheek, needing to have physical contact with her. I'm so on the fence with everything, but one thing's for sure: I need Meredith to make any decisions for herself. I won't keep that from her. "Meredith, I need to tell you something."

Her eyes grow wide. "Okay."

I wet my lips and swallow, feeling all the signs of vomiting in my stomach, but I push the feeling aside. She looks so beautiful and warm and all I want to do is drag her to my bed, but it seems wrong. It _is_ wrong. Not after everything that happened today. So I bite the bullet, "Your mother came to see me today." Meredith visibly coils away from me. "She threatened me and if I don't return you to her care by Sunday night, she's going to have me arrested for harboring a runaway and kidnapping."

After a beat, Meredith says, "Fuck."


	19. Chapter 19

**Gah...I'm so bad at keeping promises. Why do I make them?**

**This is a day overdue...but more like two months overdue. I have 8,000 excuses, but none that matter now that an update is here! Sorry for the delay, but thank you all for your words of encouragement.  
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**If you haven't done so already, check out my new one-shot called "In a Bottle." It was my birthday present to you guys (my birthday was yesterday!)**

**Enjoy! And happy weekend :)  
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* * *

><p>After sitting for nearly ten hours, everything aches. I don't dare lie on the mattress; I have no idea who's slept in the same spot and if I have anything left after my dignity, good name, and freedom has been stripped from me—it's my health.<p>

For the first hour or so, I paced. And then I grew tired and frustrated, so I just sat.

I stare through the bars, trying to imagine anywhere but here, and of course I think of Meredith.

**Two Days Ago**

Meredith leans against me in bed. We didn't talk about it last night. How could we? The position Ellis has put us in is impossible. If I keep Meredith here, someone will show up and take her right out from under me. But if I willingly hand her over to her mother, I can't keep her safe. Either way, Ellis wins. Either way, Meredith and I lose and she'll be kept her away from me. I don't care what Ellis promised, I don't believe for a second that she'd just allow Meredith to come and go as she pleases. In fact, the next time I might see Meredith is her birthday.

I tighten my grip around her shoulders. For now, I have her.

The morning is beautiful. The sky is perfectly blue and the temperature has dropped considerably. Autumn is in the air and after such a hot summer, New Yorkers are celebrating. The streets below are especially loud and busy, but I can't hear much beside Meredith's even breath against my chest.

I touch her hair.

I kiss her forehead.

I don't want her to be taken from me.

Meredith tips her face up to me. I see the worry in her eyes—the panic. Neither one of us can stand the inevitable future. I don't know if I can stand around and just watch her leave. Watch her be taken right out from under me.

"What are you thinking?" she whispers.

I've created a safe haven for her here. I've given her everything I can to make sure she's safe and happy, but it hasn't helped.

But I don't tell her any of that.

"You're beautiful in the morning." I kiss her lips.

"Are you insinuating I'm not beautiful in the afternoon and evening?" she quips.

I slide down the bed until we're nose-to-nose. "Never. You're always beautiful."

Her cheeks grow red. My heart races. Meredith slides her fingers through mine and holds our hands between our bodies. Her expression changes from amusement to something darker. "Derek, I'm afraid."

I nod. I'm afraid too. But I can't tell her. Instead I kiss the worry from her cheeks, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, and her mouth. I draw her against me and press my nose into her neck. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Her breath hitches and she clings to me. I feel like we're in that alleyway all over again. But instead of a rapist holding her against the wall, it's her mother blocking her from me.

"What if she—"

I cut her off with a kiss. "I love you," I whisper.

Meredith is tense in my arms, but her face melts to tenderness. "I love you, too."

**Present Day**

It's dark outside. Through my cell window, I can see the back alley behind the precinct. It looks like the garbage hasn't been picked up in weeks. Thankfully, my window is a thick Plexiglas one, unlike those open, bar-ridden ones you see on TV, so I can't smell the offensive pile. However, just knowing my surroundings are so deplorable makes me antsy to leave.

I'm tired. I want nothing more than to take a nap, but you couldn't pay me to lay my head onto the mattress. The man in the cell beside mine sleeps like a baby; I wish I had his bravery.

A door opens and closes further down the hallway and the click of shoes echoes along the cells. The officer who brought me in stands outside my cell. His face is lined with years of stress—cold and guarded. He smiles, but there's no delight in his eyes. "Your bail has been paid."

Relief floods through me. I walk toward the cell door.

He doesn't move.

"We get all kinds of kids like you in here. Kids that have money and expect us all to bow at your feet. Most of 'em are druggies. Addicted to crack and coke. Some are gamblers and cons. They always get off because their parents are sittin' on 500k a year and they are never told no. There's nothing I hate more than a privileged shithead that gets off.

"But we're not done with you yet. Fucking a seventeen-year-old—keeping her from her mom." He shakes his head. "No. You're not done yet. That little girl's mom is going to press charges and you're going to go to jail."

I stare the officer down. After hours of pacing and worrying about Meredith, the last thing I need is to be harassed by a local cop. "You said I made bail," I remind him.

He sneers at me. "If you so much as step a toe out of line, I will come for you. You don't leave the city and you don't contact that girl. If you do call her, or text her, or throw fucking stones at her window, I will pick you up and that'll be it. No money in the world can bail you out."

"I'd like to go now."

He smirks. "Yeah, I bet you would."

I break my stare because I feel myself breaking. I imagined a lot of outcomes when I first met Meredith, but this was never one of them.

**Two Days Ago**

Meredith is in the kitchen. She wears one of my shirts and a pair of what she calls "yoga pants." Her hips are pressed to the counter as she slices an apple on the cutting board. We've spent the entire day lying in bed, so her hair is a wreck. She looks beautiful.

"Shit," she groans and sticks her hand beneath the faucet.

"Did you cut yourself?" I walk up to the sink.

A thin stream of blood flows from her finger. "No," she lies.

I rip a paper towel from roll and draw her finger back. I wrap the towel around her wound. "There should be a rule that bans you from any kitchen."

Meredith smiles. "It's only a little cut."

"Yes, but one you got by cutting an apple. Children cut apples. I'm sure monkeys can, too."

"Are you comparing me to a monkey?"

I tuck her hair behind her ears. "You do like bananas a lot."

Meredith laughs and tucks her hands into the back of my shorts. Her fingers are warm through my boxers and my stomach stirs with excitement. After our near-sex, all I can think about is having Meredith in my bed. It's not the right time. She's still shaken up after the run-in I had with her mother and the last thing I want to do is spook her. But the way she walks around my apartment in just a shirt, her long, toned legs crossed over my lap as we watch TV, and her infectious giggle as I tickle her among the sheets—I can't focus. I daydream of having her, but it's not fair. I have to give her time.

So I kiss her. I'm allowed to do that. She sighs against me and folds into my chest, her hands drawing up under the back of my shirt. She laughs as my fingers tickle down her sides and brushes up against me. It takes everything I have not to gasp and pull her closer. Instead I end our kiss and step away.

Now's not the time for that.

I begin cutting the rest of her apple. The last thing I want is to drive her to the hospital because she's cut off her finger.

"What is that?"

"Hmm?" I bite into an apple slice.

Meredith crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm going to be gone in two days. And every time I pull you in, you draw away."

"No I don't," I lie. I focus on cutting the apple.

"Yes, you do. I don't know what we're waiting for."

I set the knife down and stare out the window. I'm waiting for her to be ready. But maybe she's been ready all along.

"I'm not a virgin," she says.

My stomach coils and I drop my chin to my chest. "Great," I say sarcastically.

"Do you want me to be one or something? Am I like damaged goods to you?"

"Of course not," I say to both questions. "It's just…" I glance at Meredith. "It's not something you want to hear when literally all you've been thinking about all day is having sex with your girlfriend."

Meredith relaxes. "Really?" I nod. She reaches forward and touches the back of my hand. "I'm sorry."

I flip my hand up and lace our fingers together. "I'm not holding out because I want to. I just didn't think you were ready. And not because you might be a virgin, but because I don't take sex lightly. I don't sleep with random girls and I just sort of assumed the same for you. I didn't want you to think I've had you here to bed you."

She slides against my body and the counter, touching me all over. "I don't bed random girls either," she whispers with a smirk.

I burst out into laughter. I hold the back of her neck. "Smartass."

I kiss her. And she kisses me back.

**Present Day**

I walk down the hallway and into an administrative office. Nancy and Kathleen stand as soon as I enter the room. I feel my cheeks flush.

"Okay Mr. Shepherd," the officer sitting behind the desk says. She lifts up an evidence bag. "I am returning to you a watch, a wallet, a cell phone, and a set of keys. Can you sign right here?"

"Are they pressing charges?" Kathleen asks behind me. Leave it to Kathy to use her extensive knowledge of _Law & Order_ as we stand in the police station.

"I would suggest Mr. Shepherd gets himself a good lawyer," the cop who let me out sneers.

I sign the form as fast as humanly possible. I pocket my things and turn to my sisters. But the cop stands in my way.

"No contact," he reminds me. "You'll probably be receiving a subpoena any day now."

I say nothing. He steps aside and I slide past him. Both my sisters wrap their arms around me and lead me from the police station.

**Two Days Ago**

I let Meredith lead me. I'm not used to taking the backseat in this, but I want her as comfortable as possible. Her hands are soft, yet demanding against me, and her mouth travels up and down my throat, never following the same path twice. I shiver as she licks a particularly sensitive spot at the base of my throat, right near my racing pulse point.

Meredith pins me to the counter with her hips. I touch her hair, her back, her sides, and I kiss her back with enthusiasm.

She steps back from me and tugs at the hem of her shirt, pulling the entire thing up and over her head. Besides her underwear, she's naked. I take my time looking at her. Her skin is perfectly pale and freckled and the subtle curves of her body look enticing. She stands still the entire time, never once self-conscious underneath my gaze. I wet my lips, curl my hand in her hair, and drag her mouth back to mine.

**Present Day**

Nancy and Kathleen are shockingly quiet when I climb into Nancy's car. Nancy heads towards the highway, but I remind her, "I can't leave the state."

No Connecticut for me.

We veer back towards my apartment. I can feel the tension rolling off their skin.

I stare out the window. It's easier to ignore the elephant in the room when I'm thinking of Meredith.

**Two Days Ago**

We end up in her old room. Since Meredith moved into my room, her room has been turned into a storage space for all her stuff. She still dresses in that room, so her clothes are all over, but Meredith clears them before sitting down on the edge of the bed. I draw my shirt off and lean down onto her, kissing the tops of her breasts. Meredith holds the back of my head in place and sighs as I kiss across her sternum and back to her neck.

Meredith scoots back and I follow, pressing my hips against hers.

I kiss down her stomach, running my fingers along her bare legs, and kiss just above the top of her panties.

**Present Day**

"What happened, exactly?" Kathleen asks as we drive past the park. I know they're taking me the long way home, but instead of fighting it, I just stare out the window.

"I got arrested."

Nancy stares at me in the rearview mirror. "That's not what she means."

"And you know it," Kathleen adds.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"We drove all the way down here. The least you can do is explain what happened."

I close my eyes. Maybe if I focus hard enough, I'll envision Meredith.

"Who's Meredith?" Kathleen asks.

"She's none of your business."

**Two Days Ago**

I lie on my back with Meredith parallel. She stretches along me, her legs cradling either side of my hips. Her fingers dance down my stomach and to the waist of my shorts. I let out a shuttering breath as she cups me. Her mouth closes on mine.

Meredith cups my cheek with her other hand and as her mouth pulls from mine, she slides her thumb down my lips. Her hand disappears into my shorts and she draws me into her hand. My eyes close and I sigh.

A moment later, Meredith is straddling my thighs and pulling my shorts down. I feel the cool air sweep across me as I spring free. I open my eyes and gaze at Meredith just as her mouth wraps around me.

"Jesus," I gasp and fall back against the mattress. "You don't have to."

Meredith kisses below my bellybutton. "I know."

She returns her attention and I slip away into unbridled bliss.

**Present Day**

"Is she worth all this?" Nancy asks. "Not that it matters, because everything's already happened, but is she really worth the loss of…everything?"

"Yes." I say to my reflection. "She's worth whatever happens to me."

**Two Days Ago**

I stare down at her naked body. It seems unimaginable that I'm in this position, ready to love her, and having her willing to take me. Her legs are wrapped around my back and her hands grip my forearms. I touch her clit with my thumb and tease her entrance with my forefinger. She digs her nails into my arms and arches up against the mattress. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

As I slide a condom on, I make sure to kiss her thoroughly. Meredith already seems sluggish from lust, but the fire brims under her skin. She rolls her hips as soon as I slide between her thighs.

The second she envelopes me, a groan builds up my throat and rumbles in my chest.

Meredith smiles at me and I kiss her for the thousandth time.

**Present Day**

Nancy stops in front of my apartment. For a second I think they might just drop me off, but Nancy promises to be right back—after she finds a parking space—and leaves Kathleen to follow me upstairs.

My apartment feels cold when I walk in. I don't even hold the door open for Kathleen as I immediately head towards my room. Everything is gone. Everything that matters, at least. The only thing that lingers is the scent of her hair. The guest room is also empty. Her clothes, her shoes, her hairbrush, and her lip gloss are all long-since gone. I lean against the door jam, hoping something might remain, but it's just…empty.

"Derek," Kathleen sighs, "what happened? They said you were arrested for harboring a runaway."

"She took her."

"Who took who?"

I knock my head against the trim. "Her mother."

Kathleen touches my arm. It should be comforting, only it's not. "Whose mother?"

"Meredith." Just saying her name hurts.

"Is she the one? The girl you kept here."

"I didn't _keep_ her," I practically spit. "She wasn't some goddamn pet."

Kathleen raises her hands and nods. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant: is she the one that had you sitting in jail all night?"

"No. I mean, yes, she's the reason they locked me up, but it isn't because of anything she did. I couldn't just leave her on the streets. Not after what almost happened. I saved her." I stare at my sister. "She was alone and I saved her."

"And you fell in love with her."

I look away. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

**Two Days Ago**

Meredith laughs beside me. It's infectious. It's beautiful. She's beautiful.

I make sure to kiss her all over.

She shivers and I draw the blankets up around us. Meredith tucks her arms against my chest, between our bodies, and smiles.

"What are you smiling about?"

She kisses my chin. "That was amazing."

"Yeah."

"Open your eyes," she demands.

"Can't. Too tired."

Meredith throws her leg across my hip. "How can you possibly be tired? It's not like it lasted long or anything."

My eyes spring open. She's smirking at me. "You better be kidding me."

Meredith rolls on top of me. "Of course I am. I just wanted you to open your eyes."

"Well, I did. And now I need to nap." I throw my arm over my eyes.

Within seconds, she's forcing my arm away. "Derek Christopher Shepherd," she whispers and kisses my mouth. "I love you. Please wake up."

"Physically exhausted."

"Please. _Please_."

I open my eyes again.

"Don't sleep yet. I don't want this moment ever to go away."

I wrap her in my arms. "It won't. I promise."

**Present Day**

"Monday morning came and went and I thought we were home free. I thought she'd just let us be. I was wrong." I tell my sisters as they sit patiently and watch me pace the living room.

"By the afternoon, we were relaxing and planning dinner, but just after four, someone buzzed to be let up. Ellis took Meredith first. She didn't even let me kiss her goodbye. Meredith didn't fight much, because what's the point. I shouted that I'd call later, but for some reason I knew I wouldn't be able to. The police showed up fifteen minutes later. They cuffed me. Read me my rights and dragged me to the precinct.

"I have no idea where Meredith is. I have no idea how she is or what she's doing. For all I know, she thinks I'm just not calling her back. Knowing Ellis, she didn't explain anything and Meredith is probably just waiting beside the phone. I just want her to be safe. Safe and knowing that I'm thinking about her."

Nancy reaches out to me. I embrace the kind gesture. "I'll be okay."

I shake my head. "I don't know how it can be."

**Two Days Ago**

Meredith kissing my jaw wakes me from a deep slumber.

It's the middle of the night. I draw her against my side. She smiles against my skin.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"I've never been happier."

I gaze at her. The streetlights cast a glow along her skin. "I've never been happier, either. I'm glad I saved you that day," I whisper.

She rests her hand over my heart. "And in turn, I'm glad I saved you."

And she did save me. She keeps saving me.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi fanfiction friends! I'm much better at updating this week. Although it's not happy and full of legal business (of which I know nothing, so be kind!)**

**I was struck with a brilliant new idea yesterday, so I'm going to be juggling writing. For now, that project will be on the back burner, but it's still there, calling my name.  
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**Happy Tuesday. Enjoy!  
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><p>"Your girlfriend is calling again," Mark yells from the living room.<p>

I've been cleaning the same plate for three minutes while I stare out my kitchen window. Maybe if I stare longer, I'll wake up from this nightmare.

I set the plate back into the sink and return to the living room. Mark's feet are propped on my coffee table while he begins his fourth continuous hour of _Halo_. He pushes the buttons so hard on the controller, I'm sure he's going to break it. Again.

Meredith's name glows up at me from my phone. I wait for the call to end and turn my phone off.

"So you're just going to ignore her for all of eternity?"

I glare at Mark and his pompous stare. "I obviously can't answer, so why bother?"

The truth of the matter is I've been in a shit mood for three days. Since I was released, I can't do much of anything. I'm not allowed to leave the state, so I can't visit my parents' house; I can't go to school without facing ridicule—it doesn't help that a brief article about my arrest was featured in _Page Six_; I can't even hang out with Mark because he has his own opinions on the whole situation. So I sit at home and watch endless television. I do the schoolwork I can manage at home and I go into school after hours. My professors aren't sympathetic, but luckily they all see promise in me. They want me to succeed, so they all agree on our arrangement.

But nothing sweeps the hurt under the rug.

And nothing stops Meredith from endlessly calling me.

I shouldn't be mad at her. She wanted me to stay away. It's irrational to blame her, but somewhere, in the front of my brain, I do. I can't help but think if she never showed up on my doorstep the first time, I'd never be in this situation. It's mean and cruel to blame her. I know that. Only, I can't help it.

"I could call her, you know," Mark reminds me.

I collapse onto the couch and pinch between my eyes.

"Yeah, okay. Just don't do it here. I don't want to hear."

Mark cocks his eyebrow at me and shrugs. "Right. I'll just go. Before the parents show up."

The amount I'm dreading my parents' arrival might be greater than that of a root canal. Or a soccer ball to the testicles. My mom called on Monday and wanted to visit right away, but I fended her off for a few days claiming to be sick. But three days is all they'll give me. I can already envision their response to my arrest: my mother's fake sympathy and my father's stern anger are already pushing me to the edge.

I barely acknowledge Mark's departure. Maybe after he talks to Meredith she'll stop calling. I'd like to turn my phone back on and I'd like to stop feeling guilty every time I see her name on the screen.

My parents are set to arrive any second, so I lie down on my couch and close my eyes. Anything to block out reality.

Being angry at Meredith is useless. I need to be mad at someone—besides myself, of course—and Meredith is a natural candidate. She's been ripped from my life, so for all I know, she's been shipped to Guam. I picture her somewhere far away because it feels painful to think of her being here and not able to visit. If she's 9,000 miles away, the pain seems less. But knowing she's living on the East Side off the park drives me mad. So I let my anger and hurt surround her. When her name pops up on my phone I glare. But deep within my chest, I feel the hurt. I could cry and throw a fit, but it wouldn't help.

The cherry on top of everything is the subpoena I was served yesterday. I filled it out while a court clerk watched over my shoulder. I guess I've been considered a flight risk. Luckily, my family's good name was able to keep me from being on house arrest—that and the fact that I live alone and can't leave the state. I'm to appear in court next Wednesday. My dad plans to have his lawyer meet me this week. I have a sneaking suspicion he'll be stopping by with my parents when they arrive.

Which is now. My doorbell nearly gives me a heart attack.

I buzz my parents up and flop back onto the couch. The wallowing seems to be creating a physical reaction. Everything hurts.

Someone knocks tentatively on my door, probably my mom, but that only lasts a second. My dad walks into my apartment and I can already see the vein in his neck protruding.

"Derek," Mom sighs and rushes to my side. She plops down next to me on the couch and throws her arms around my neck in an awkward side hug. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mom," my voice betrays my emotions.

My dad offers his hand, "Derek."

I reach up and shake his warm palm. "Hey," I offer.

"Quite a mess you have yourself in."

I shrug my mom off of me and relax back against the couch. Only I can't relax, not when my dad is glaring at me like that. So I shrug as nonchalantly as I can, pretending nothing is phasing me.

Dad paces the length of the room once. He's frustrated and angry.

"How did this happen, Derek?" Mom asks me. The soothing tone in her voice makes me cringe.

They both look at me expectantly. How am I supposed to explain?

"Derek?" my dad prompts, as if I didn't just hear Mom's question.

With a sigh, I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head. "It's complicated."

"You were arrested for harboring a runaway. A _minor_ runaway, at that. The officer who arrested you told your sisters that the girl had been living with you since March."

"May," I correct. "And she wasn't living here the _whole_ time." There was, after all, the six weeks in June and July that she spent with Alex in Washington DC.

Dad finally sits down, which alleviates some of my stress. "What were you doing keeping a runaway here? Didn't you think, for a second, how bad that implication might be? _When_ someone found out?"

"Obviously I never thought anyone would find out."

"Her mother found out because you were careless."

"No," I correct, "her mother found out because she's smart."

"Oh, so you didn't go to Meredith's hometown and visit her mother's house? Isn't that where she first met you?"

My stomach and face burn with shame. "You spoke to Meredith's mom?"

Dad nods, "Of course I spoke to Dr. Grey. I even visited with her. After everything you put that woman through, I thought it would be smart to speak to her. She's a very nice person."

"Yeah, when she's not beating her daughter," I growl.

"Derek honey," Mom lays her hand on my arm, "calm down. We're not here to point fingers."

"Of course you are! 'After everything you put that woman through,'" I reiterate. "_I _didn't do anything for or against Ellis Grey. What I did was for Meredith, only."

"It's not your decision what's best for Meredith. She's a minor and she has a mother who cares very deeply for her." I open my mouth to object, but my father continues. "And," he speaks over me, "even if Meredith was in trouble, there are thousands of police officers in this city and any one of them would have been happy to help her out."

I hang my head, not in shame but in utter disbelief.

"Why did you do it?" Mom asks. "Was it because you have feelings for her?"

The idea that my feelings had anything to do with it—in the beginning—is ridiculous. I laugh to myself. When I look up at my parents, they're both wide-eyed. "I played the Good Samaritan. I heard a girl in danger, so I helped her. And look where it got me."

"So you knew her status from the beginning? You knew she was a runaway?" Mom continues.

I shake my head. "No. I suspected something was going on, but I had no idea where she was from or what her story was. She was seconds from being raped." Mom winces. "I did what I thought was best and I brought her back here. She was scared and got sick and I didn't know what else to do."

"You should have called the police."

"Yeah, well I didn't!" I snap.

Mom tries to comfort me. "You did the right thing saving her. You did a very honorable thing."

"But you should have let an adult handle her situation after that," Dad spoils my mother's kind words.

I groan and stand up, unable to even be in my skin while I hear my father's blatant refusal to see what I did as a good thing. I pace the length of the room, something I've been doing a lot as of late. "She left the next morning," I say, continuing the story. If my parents are going to disagree with my decisions, they might as well know it all.

So I explain everything. I tell them about my search for Meredith the days after she left and her return three days later. I explain how she stayed for just a week before running off. I confess that I did park outside Meredith's home in Ipswich and spoke to Ellis before arriving for Nancy's wedding. I explain Washington DC and returning to New York and Meredith finally making her place in my home. I leave out the sex, because _that's _no one business, but I leave a slight breadcrumb trail that almost admits my feelings for Meredith. If my dad doesn't understand, I'm sure my mom does. At least a little.

Recounting my time with Meredith gives me whiplash and reminds me of how little time we spent together _together_. I feel like we should have had so much more. And we can have it, eventually, but I worry that even after we endure all of this—the weeks apart, her time with her mom, and my impending prison sentence—we might not want to be together anymore. Maybe the innocence of it all will be tainted. Maybe she won't see me the same way any longer. Or maybe I won't think she's worth all of this.

These are the thoughts that keep me up all night.

Mom offers me her hand, which I take for comfort, and she pulls me down next to her. "Oh, Derek. We had no idea."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Dad asks.

"How could I? I can see your disapproval all over your face right now. How could I explain to you what was going on without seeing the same look? You clearly don't agree with my choices and whether I told you the day I met Meredith or two days before I was arrested, you still wouldn't agree."

"We could have given you legal counsel though. We could have protected you from all this."

"No, you couldn't have. The only advice a lawyer would have given me was to run. Run as fast and as far away as I can. As soon as Ellis got involved, I was a goner. I should have listened when she showed up here and told me she wanted Meredith back. I should have handed her over then because either way, we lost."

Dad perks up, "What do you mean 'showed up here'? When did Ellis come here?"

I think back. "Friday. She came here and wanted Meredith back, but I told her it wasn't going to happen. She told me we had the weekend together and by Monday Meredith should be returned to her. As if Meredith was a book checked out of the library or a DVD to be returned. It was ridiculous."

"So Ellis threatened you?"

"Yeah. I mean, she told me she'd have me arrested for harboring a runaway and kidnapping—which is bizarre—if Meredith wasn't returned to her care."

"She said she's have you arrested for kidnapping."

"Yes. Why?"

Dad runs his hand through his hair and pulls out his phone. "I have to call Gary." He glances at me. "Your new lawyer. Excuse me." He stands up and walks into Meredith's old room.

I turn to Mom. "What's that all about?"

"I guess your dad thinks that information could help you."

"He shouldn't waste his minutes. Ellis Grey will not back down from this."

Mom sighs. I wonder if she's tired of the negativity or just tired in general. "She's a mother. She's protecting her child, just like I would protect you or any one of your sisters."

"Yeah, but the difference is you never hit us. You didn't leave us to raise ourselves while you were binge drinking after your husband died."

"No, that's true. But I never had to go through that pain either. Your father is alive and well and I have no idea how I might have reacted if he had died."

"You're strong, Mom. I have no doubt that you would have handled it ten thousand times better than Dr. Grey."

Mom wraps her arm around my shoulder. "Maybe. Maybe not. But what really matters is I have five amazing children, all of whom I'm immensely proud of."

"You're proud of me, even now?"

"Especially now. Not everyone would have saved that girl."

"I couldn't leave her," I say quietly.

Mom smiles. "I know, because I _raised_ you to be the kind of person who saves a woman from being raped. I'm just as much at fault in all of this as you are."

Before I respond, Dad opens the door and rejoins us in the living room. He seems surprisingly more upbeat than he had been just moments before. "Gary thinks this will really help us."

"How?" Mom and I ask at the same time.

"Ellis threatened you. She used her daughter as the bait. Her actions are questionable and make me wonder how long she knew you were keeping Meredith in this apartment. And why did she wait so long to expose the secret? It's curious, that's for sure, and I think a judge would find it strange as well."

"But I can still go to jail for a year."

"For _up to_ a year. Most cases like this are resolved in court with some community service. You could be back at Colombia next Thursday."

"And what if I am sentenced to a year in prison?"

Dad looks to Mom. Panic glides across their features.

"Seriously. What if I'm charged?"

"We'll work on an appeal. We'll get your sentence reduced," Dad assures me.

"But it'll always be on my record."

"Derek," Dad says with surprising calm, maybe to keep me from freaking out. "Harboring a runaway, a minor especially, is a federal offense. It's not a misdemeanor." I shake my head. I know all this. "That kind of offense, whether you're proven guilty or not, will always be on your record."

"I know."

Dad runs his palm over his rough cheek. "If you're charged, we'll do everything we can to help. And when you return to school, maybe you should consider a Doctors Without Borders plan. Doing something like that would certainly boost your resume and might even deter employers from dawdling too much on your arrest."

"So I'm screwed, essentially."

"You're not screwed," Mom says. "It's just a little more complicated now."

"Gary thinks we have a shot. Even though this will be on your record, if you don't get charged it won't be nearly as bad. We just need to make your case as strong as possible. Gather some character references and remind everyone how clean your record was before this. And maybe Ellis's daughter could say something in your defense."

"No. Don't drag Meredith into this," I bite.

"But Derek, it could—"

"I've been told to not contact her. If she gives a statement, they'll lock me away anyway. Leave Meredith out of this."

"But honey, if—" Mom begins.

"No!" I snap. "I'll win this without Meredith.

Mom and Dad look to each other again. I'm suddenly feeling exhausted.

"I'm tired. We have a week until the hearing. Can we talk about this later?"

"Fine. But I'm going to set up a meeting with you and Gary tomorrow. Somewhere around here," he clarifies. It feels ten times worse to have my parents know about my geographical restraints as well.

I don't have the attention span to juggle my emotions any longer, so I say goodbye to my parents, promising to meet Gary at Starbucks tomorrow, and I climb into my bed which still smells of Meredith.

For the next hour, I stare at the ceiling. I study the pot marks and scuffs, wondering how they ended up there. I study the dust gathering on my ceiling fan and over the door jams. Did Meredith notice these flaws and find my housekeeping disgusting? Did she notice the leaky handle in the bathroom or the way the kitchen sink never fully drains? Did she care that the living room sloped so that the couch never really stayed in place? Did she hate the feeling of my cotton sheets? Did she hate the smell of my shampoo?

What about now? Does she still think about my sloping living room and faulty sink? Or is she too focused on her new home, which is probably shiny and bright?

I feel a depression creeping back over me.

My front door opens. "Derek?" Mark calls.

I sit up and my stomach drops. _He's just seen Meredith._ I rush from my room and into the living room; I probably look crazy.

Mark hands me an envelope. "She's okay."

"What did she say?" My heart is racing so fast, I can barely think.

"Not much. She had to sneak me in through the freight elevator and only had a few minutes to talk. She wanted you to know she's fine, but she misses you." Mark scowls, probably because the drama of it all is too much for his black heart.

"She's okay?"

Mark nods. "Yeah. No lumps, no bruises. Her mom's around a lot, but she's sober and keeping her hands to herself." Mark motions to the envelope. "She wanted you to read it. I guess she explains some stuff."

I flip open the envelope. "What stuff?"

"No idea. She didn't say. She just told me to make sure you read it right away."

I pull sheets upon sheets of white lined paper out from the envelope. _Hi Derek_, it starts.

"I'm not sticking around for this. Call me later."

I nod, unable to look away from the letter.

"See you buddy."

I sit down on the couch and begin to read.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello everyone! It's been a while, but for once I have a real excuse. My town was pretty devastated by Hurricane Sandy and the snow storm which hit last week and I just was able to return to my home yesterday. We have power (finally) and I've finally been able to assess the damage. Luckily, my house is pretty much okay, but I have neighbors who have lost everything. It's been a rough road, especially being so unprepared for storms like this, but things are getting better. I hope none of you were affected by the storm. And I thank you for your patience!  
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**As always, thank you for your comments. This chapter is kind of an eye opener, and I hope you like it. I'm happy/sad to say this story is coming to an end. If my plans work out as they should, there will be two more updates and a epilogue, and I'll be finished before Christmas. I'm looking forward to writing the finale of this!  
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**Thanks again. Enjoy!  
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><p><em>Hi Derek,<em>

_I'm so worried about you. Mark says you've been spending most of your time at home, and that you're okay, but I hate not being able to talk to you. I know this is against the rules, but I just can't spend another minute not explaining everything to you. There's so much I have to tell you. _

_I'm back in school. I'm enrolled at Brearley. It's an all girls school, which is fine by me. I'm not there to socialize. I just need to finish my degree. My guidance counselor says my "indiscretion" for the last few months of my junior year will be wiped clean and I'll graduate in May. Of course my mom is now obsessed with my future and keeps talking about colleges. She expects me to go to Harvard, Princeton, or Yale. It's all she talks about. I don't even know what I want to do yet, but she swears I'll be something important. Whatever that means._

_Besides bringing home pamphlets from colleges and signing me up for university newsletters, my mom is fine. I can tell she's just happy to have me back, so she's not complaining or yelling at me about anything. I'm not trying to push the envelope or anything, but regular things, like not hanging up my towel after a shower and leaving my shoes by the front door—which used to drive her nuts—are fine now. I think she'll let me see you even. Especially when this whole court thing is over._

_Mom won't tell me anything, but Mark says you're due in court next Wednesday. I want to testify for you. I don't know how to go about it without my mom finding out until I'm on the stand, but I'll figure something out. I'm not going to sit by and let the judge think you did anything wrong. We both know without you I probably would have ended up dead. It's the least I can do for you after everything, and I know you won't want me to, but I'm doing this for _us_ Derek, not just for you._

_I can't believe how much I miss you. It's only been a few days, but it feels like weeks and weeks. I hated thinking of you in jail, alone, on Monday. Was it terrible? I was so scared for you. Scared you would be put in a cell with someone else. Mark says you were alone, which is good, but I'm still so sorry it happened. I can't believe my mom stooped so low. She might be trying to get on my good side by acting involved and caring, but I'm still not speaking to her. I won't speak to her until I can see you again._

_My mom's not all bad, though. I think she just really wanted me to graduate high school. Staying with you didn't bother her; it was the fact that I couldn't go to school while I stayed with you because I was hiding and all that. She cares in that sense. She cares in other ways too._

_Speaking of my mom, There are some things I have to tell you._

_When I ran, I was alone. Alex couldn't come with me yet and I was scared a lot of the time. You were the first person I trusted on the road, but I met a lot of people along the way. The first few people I met thought I was spoiled and foolish for running. I told them the truth and they all rolled their eyes. So that's why I started to lie. And I'm so sorry I ever started it. I'm so sorry Derek._

_My mom isn't an alcoholic. She never was. The first person I told the lie to believed me and she didn't judge me for running. She actually related to my story. I stayed with her for days, when previously it was barely hours with the people who judged me. After a few more people, the lies came more frequently. More easily. But I'm telling you the truth now because I want you to know everything. I want you to know that my past might be stretched and molded differently than it actually happened, but the person I am—the person who loves you—is the same._

_When my dad died, I didn't take it well. I know you have your suspicions, but my dad did commit suicide. I don't know why, but he did. I never got along with my mom. I guess I always wanted a mom that held my hand as I walked across the street as a child; I wanted a mom who would make me egg salad sandwiches and put ribbons in my hair. She was never like that. Mom was too busy with her career and her patients, and everything else. So my dad was my rock. You know all of this, I know, but it's important for you to understand where I'm coming from. It's important to me. _

_My dad dying ruined so much for me. It ruined my childhood. I started spending my time with Izzie and Cristina. They both had tough living situations too, so we went out a lot. When we were thirteen, we started hanging out at this park in Boston. We'd take the bus down there and watch the boys playing basketball. That's how we met Alex. While Izzie, Cristina, and I were still so sheltered and reserved, Alex was free. He had been abused by his father for years and he was heavy into drugs and alcohol at that time. I started drinking with Alex and we spent every weekend together wasted. Cristina and Izzie weren't into it. Not yet at least, so I pulled away from them and became wrapped up in Alex._

_Then Alex's dad sent him to boarding school in New Jersey. I ran away two weeks later. It took my mom only 12 hours to find me. I was grounded for months. I think I was depressed sitting in that big house by myself. _

_I finally saw Alex in January that year. He'd cleaned up. I hadn't. But after a few hours together, we were drinking and smoking and laughing. I don't want you to think Alex is a bad guy. He's not. We were just bad together. We brought out the worst in each other._

_Mom tried to keep me happy. She always told me to invite Izzie and Cristina over, but they still weren't talking to me. It wasn't until after our sophomore year that we became friends again._

_Izzie's dad died that year, just like mine had and just like Cristina's had. We were all part of the dead dad's club. Cristina sought me out and just seeing Izzie like that brought me back to reality. We had all been best friends for years and I had let my bad habits ruin that. I didn't drink after that. Maybe once or twice. But not really. Not until Mark's party, at least. And we both know how that could have ended if you hadn't stopped me._

_At this time, my mom wasn't working. She had been head of general at Boston Gen, but had left after my dad died. She'd penned a few books, but the rest of the time she was chasing me around. For the first time in my life, the mom I wanted existed. She spent time worrying about me and putting my needs first. She would call me when I was off with Alex and ask me to come home to eat my favorite meal. But I resented her. She had ruined everything. If she hadn't been such a shitty wife and mother, my dad wouldn't be dead and I would be happy. So I started telling my friends she had a drinking problem—probably to move the focus from my problems._

_My mom did hit me once, though. I didn't lie about that. Just before I ran away, things got bad again. Alex was back for winter break, and we weren't drinking, but we were spending a lot of time together. I'll spare you the details, but at that point I thought I might be pregnant. I wasn't—thankfully—but my mom found the test and she freaked. We were fighting about that and about me being drunk, and she hit me. I said horrible things to her. Things I'm ashamed of. I deserved it. But something in me snapped. I couldn't stay there. Just like Alex is bad for me, so is my mother. _

_Besides my dad, you might be the best person for me._

_Which is why I'm telling you all of this. I lied in the beginning because I thought you were just another stop along the way. But then you kissed me. And you found me in D.C. And I wanted to admit it all to you. I wanted to make sure you knew all about me, but it never seemed like the right time. I would have told you on the beach, but you had just seen me at my worst and I didn't want you to be disappointed. I know it's an excuse, and maybe a bad one, but I needed you to not look at me like my mom does. I needed you to love me. And I was afraid you wouldn't if you knew the truth._

_My mom isn't a monster. She's a bad wife and mother, but she didn't neglect me. Not when it mattered most. She tried. But by then I was so angry with her, I couldn't take her mothering. I still can't, but I need to finish my degree, so if this is the way to do it, I will. I'll stay with her until I graduate, and then I'll never see her again. Just like I can't see Alex again. We're broken—all three of us—and I need someone whole. _

_I need you._

_I'm afraid that you'll never want to see me again. You don't like lies. I know this. But you have to know I love you. I fell in love with you forever ago. I didn't want to lie to you, but I honestly never expected it to become _this_. I never expected to stay with you for so long and to depend on you for so much. I appreciate everything you've done for me. _

_So because I love you and because I've been so guilty for lying since I realized I loved you, I'm testifying on your behalf. You will not go to jail for me. I won't allow it._

_Derek, you're the best person I know. You're so generous and warm. You protect everyone you know. You're kind and patient and so loving. You changed me. You said that I saved you after we made love, but the only reason I was able to save you is because you saved me—you saved my body, my heart, and my soul. _

_Please, please try to understand where I'm coming from. I never meant to hurt you._

_I love you._

_Your Meredith_

\\\

I stare at the words on the page. And then I stare out the window. I pace my apartment. I check the clock on the stove. I read the letter again. I wash my hands. I eat an apple. I read the letter again. I sneeze. I yawn. I read the letter again. I lie down. I read the letter again. And again. And again. And again. My eyes grow tired, so I close them. I can see her words scrolling through my mind. But then I remember her words…the night on the roof. I remember her lies.

_My mom started drinking that night. I guess it took a while before she was a full-fledged alcoholic, but she drank and drank and drank, most the time until she passed out on the couch or at the kitchen table or in the shower._

My head begins to hurt.

_My mom literally did nothing but drink, eat, and sleep—in that order. She barely even looked at me in the last year._

My stomach turns.

_She 'retired' only three months after he died. We were living on her pension and his life insurance, but the house is too expensive and the bills are too frequent._

My mouth goes dry.

I stand up and rip the letter in half. I grab my phone and my keys, and I slam my door shut behind me.

The subway doesn't go directly to the east side, so I cut across the Village towards the 4, 5, 6 line. I call Mark while I'm at it and ask for Meredith's address. It pisses me off that I don't even know my own girlfriend's address, which just ignites another spark inside me. I keep my voice level on the phone, trying to hide the fact that I've never been this angry. I tell Mark I want to mail her a letter. He offers to drop it off, but I insist. He finally gives me the address and I hang up without saying goodbye. He texts me, but I ignore it. I practically run down the subway steps and hop onto the 6.

I take the subway to Lexington, right near the park, and walk three blocks to Ellis's apartment. The building is graceful, taking up an entire block with rounded French windows and cast-iron railings along the balconies. The front doors are painted bright red and a doorman greets me with a tip of his hat. The building is much like Mark's on the other side of the park; old, elegant, and regal, and perfectly outfitted for a doctor of Ellis Grey's caliber.

Since I first learned Ellis was Meredith's mother, and Meredith lied about her mother's drinking problem, I've hated this woman more than anything else. I've daydreamed about her leaving Meredith alone for the rest of her life. I've dreamed about her falling off the face of the earth. I've even wished her dead, once or twice, when Meredith seemed particularly low. But it all is such a sham. Ellis tried. Meredith even admitted that her mother tried to make it all right. Even if Meredith's dad did kill himself because of Ellis, it doesn't mean Meredith should have lied to me for so long.

I mean, we had sex for god's sake.

"Sir? Sir?"

Someone grabs my arm. It's the doorman.

"We need you to check in at the front desk, sir."

The woman behind the desk looks irritated. I don't even think about Ellis being home. I don't care if she's there. I have to talk to Meredith, even if I have to stand on the sidewalk and yell up to her window. I cross the lobby in three steps, "I'm here to see Meredith Grey."

"Which apartment is she?"

I don't know which apartment, but the look on this woman's face makes me think I have to. So I lie. "The penthouse." It's Ellis Grey; she lives in the penthouse.

She looks at a computer screen and then back to me. "Does Miss Grey know you're here?"

"Yes."

The woman picks up the phone and dials. Quietly, she says, "Miss Grey, there's a man here to see you." She listens and then looks at me, "Your name sir?"

"Derek."

"Derek, miss."

The conversation ends quickly. The woman offers me a kind smile—now that she knows I'm not trying to break in. "The top floor, sir."

I ride the elevator with an attendant. He tries to make polite conversation, but I'm seeing stars in my eyes from the anger. I give him a gruff, "Excuse me," and I pretend to text—looking very important. Just as the elevator reaches the top floor, my stomach plummets. The irrational side of me is excited to see Meredith, but the rational remembers what she did. I went to jail for her lies.

The doors open and Meredith is standing there in a pair of black shorts, a purple tee-shirt, and her blond hair pulled up into a ponytail. She looks bright and warm and refreshed. She looks happy. The doors shut behind me and Meredith takes a tentative step in my direction. I allow myself the moment to drink her in. She looks beautiful. It almost physically hurts to see her.

And then she's in my arms. Meredith folds herself into me and presses her nose to my throat. "What are you doing here?" she whispers softly, with a mix of awe and fear. "You'll get in trouble."

Feeling her…smelling her…hearing her…it melts my resolve. I want nothing more than to just enjoy this moment.

But then I remember her letter.

And I pull away.

Meredith's arms drop to her side and her eyes fill with worry. And then understanding. She wraps her arms around her middle and looks to the floor. "You got my letter."

"Yes."

"Derek, I—"

I wait for her to say something else—say something to defend herself. But she doesn't. She looks up at me, blinks, and looks away. "What Meredith?"

She worries her bottom lip. "You hate me."

I wonder if I do, for a second. It's ridiculous though, the idea of hating her. I can't comfort her, but I can tell her the truth. "No, I don't." She looks at me. "But I don't like you very much right now."

"I'm sorry, Derek. I really, really am."

"You lied to me for months."

"I know, and I wish I hadn't."

I shake my head. "But you did. You knowingly made me _worry_ about you, constantly. Do you know how sick to my stomach I was when I thought you'd be returning to a house with a woman who is an alcoholic? I thought she'd hit you again or worse. I thought she'd lock you up and throw away the key. Yet, I come to find out that you lied to me."

"Not about everything," she defends.

"No, that's true. She did hit you." It hurts to think that the worst part of the story might actually be true. "I'm sorry for that. No one deserves to be hit. Ever."

Meredith walks towards me. "Derek, I wanted to tell you the truth a thousand times. You deserved to know everything, but it never seemed right and I thought we'd have enough time."

"You let me go to jail." Meredith stops in her tracks. "You were afraid to be with your mother, so you stayed. You could have gone home. She said we could've seen each other, but now I'm probably going to jail for months because…what? Because you had to keep up with your lie? Keep appearances? Why Meredith?" I almost yell.

She flinches. "I was afraid she wouldn't let me see you."

"So jail is the better option?"

"Of course not! But you're not going to jail. They'll let you off."

"Let me off for what Meredith? The charges are harboring a runaway. I kept you in my apartment for months, as a secret, while you're mother gave interviews in the newspaper! I hid you. I'm guilty. There's no getting off for me. I will go to jail, because you _faked_ years of misery with your mom. You needed someone to blame. And then you made me your scapegoat!"

"No I didn't! I fell in love with you!" she says as she begins to cry.

I feel guilty, for a second, for causing her tears, but then I remember I'm not the cause.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was afraid."

"Of what?"

Meredith wipes at her face. "Of your reaction! I knew you'd be mad, even after I came back from D.C., so I didn't tell you. I couldn't. I knew you'd hate me."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon."

I look away from her, too angry to focus. I pace from the elevator door, to the end of the hallway, and back, trying to keep calm. I want so much to just leave. I'll be locked up for at least three months and maybe after that time, the anger will disappear. Maybe I'll look past it and remember how good it once felt to be in love with her.

When I turn to pace again, Meredith stands in my way. She's still crying. "I wanted you to know everything about me. The good, the bad, everything. I trusted you with it all."

"Don't you dare turn this around on me."

"I'm not." Her voice is thick with misery. "I'm trying to _explain_. I haven't been able to trust anyone in a very long time. Not my friends, not Alex, and certainly not my mom. And then I met you. And you were wonderful to me. You were—are—the kind of guy anyone would want. We weathered the storm together, so I thought you might understand why I did what I did. Why I lied. I didn't mean to hurt or deceive you; I meant to finally open up to you."

"But you didn't do that Meredith. You did hurt me and you did deceive me. And for what? You're finishing school because you're mom _cares_ enough to make sure you do. You had a father who loved you and a mother who—despite the years of neglect—stepped up to the plate when you needed her, but you wouldn't listen. I don't get you Meredith."

She bursts into a fresh round of tears and turns away from me. Everything inside me screams in pain—for her, for me. We had so much, only to lose it all. I'm a felon and Meredith is a troubled seventeen-year-old who runs away whenever life gets too difficult.

I walk to the elevator and press the down button. I'm tired. I have court in a week and after that, I'll know. I'll know if I'll walk free and continue on, without Meredith, or if I'll be put away.

At least the outcome will be the truth.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

I turn to Meredith and shake my head. "I could have handled the truth, even if it was bad. It's the lying I can't take."

The elevator reaches the floor. "Don't bother testifying for me," I say and step in, waiting for the doors to shut.

I allow myself to cry, just for a minute, while the elevator slides down. I don't just cry for Meredith and my demise. I cry for the time I'll be losing while I pay for my crime. I cry for the tarnish I'll give my family name, and the title—felon—I'll carry for the rest of my life. By the time we reach the lobby, I can tell the elevator attendant is happy to see me go. I wipe away my pain and walk directly into Ellis Grey as she tries to board the elevator.

For a second, I wonder how much trouble I'm about to get in. Ellis might not be an alcoholic, but she's still the same woman who stopped by my apartment and threatened me. She still hates me and is probably reveling in the fact that I'm about to be put off the streets for a while.

But as I stare at the woman who has given her looks to her daughter, I don't see malice. Or maybe I _hope_ to not see malice, which causes me to see it anyway.

"You're not supposed to be here," she says simply.

I nod, "I know."

"Will you come get a coffee with me?"

I say yes, probably from fear.

Ellis and I walk to the Starbucks across the street, where she orders a black coffee without cream and sugar and I order the same—intimidated to order much else. We sit at a table towards the back, where only a man on a laptop and a woman crying over a Kindle reside. Ellis stares at me.

"Did you break up with her?"

"Why?"

"Because you've been crying. I can only assume you ended it. I doubt she would. All she does is stare at her phone—as if you're about to call any second. So why did you break up with her?"

I stare at the coffee in my hands, hoping something will come up from the ground and swallow me whole. "She lied to me."

"I told you she was lying to you."

My head snaps up.

"You were so certain that I was a monster, but I knew she'd tell you the truth eventually. How'd she do it? Did she write you a note?"

"Yes."

"I'm not a saint, Derek, but I'm certainly not a bad person. Much like my daughter, I handle things wrong sometimes—like when I came to your apartment on Friday and threatened you. I'm sorry for that. Just knowing that Meredith wanted to stay with you over me… well, it was upsetting. My instinct was to go on the defensive. All I wanted was my daughter back."

"Then why did you call the police on me?"

Ellis shakes her head. "I didn't."

"If you didn't then who did?"

"Your landlord. I spoke to my friend at the precinct and he said he received a call from your landlord Saturday afternoon about a runaway minor in your apartment. He saw the missing persons flyer I posted around the city when I first took the job at Sinai, and he thought you were keeping her against her will. He was looking out for Meredith."

"Can you get the charges dropped?"

Ellis shakes her head. "I didn't press them, so no. The matter is between you and the state of New York."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Of course it is. So I'm just going to go to jail then."

"I wouldn't have pressed charges," she says, avoiding my statement. "Meredith would have never spoken to me again."

"Yeah, well she probably won't talk to me again."

"My daughter has a lot of admirable qualities—mostly from her father—but she can be very stubborn."

I'm reminded of Meredith's dad and his death. Could it really be true that he committed suicide—even though he knew Ellis was a terrible mother? Would he really leave his daughter so easily? I will probably never have a chance to ask Ellis again, so I do: "What happened to Meredith's dad?"

Ellis sighs, as if she'd known it was coming. "He was very unhappy. Meredith doesn't remember any of that because she was young—just thirteen. Thatch had always been an unhappy person; he'd been through a lot. When we got married, we both thought having a family would be best for him. I was never sure if I wanted children—my career was always going to be my first priority—but Thatch wanted a child. He was more nurturing than me. When I got pregnant we were both happy and then Meredith took to Thatch so quickly. I didn't feel as guilty working thirty-six hour shifts knowing that she was taken care of. But time passed and Thatch wasn't doing well. It wasn't Meredith's fault, of course—it wasn't anyone's—but he just couldn't take it.

"He started seeing a therapist when Meredith was four. He was doing well for a while, and then he lost his job at Boston University and he sunk into a deep depression. Thatcher was heavily medicated at the time, but he was so forgetful—he wouldn't take his medicine for days on end. The day he died, he left me a note. It wasn't easy to read; his head was in such a strange place, but he told me to remind Meredith that he loved her. He couldn't do it anymore, he'd said. Every day was too painful and he didn't want to ruin Meredith's life with his misery. I've never told Meredith any of this because she loves her father so much. He was her hero and he died because his life—including her—was too difficult to bear. Which is why I've always allowed Meredith to paint me as the bad guy. She needs someone to hate, and she always has anyway.

"I love my daughter, Derek, but I'm afraid I'll never be enough for her."

"Then why did you hit her?"

Ellis hangs her head and for once I think I see shame on her face. "I didn't mean to. She was being terrible, yelling at me and hoping that I'd die. She was drunk and ranting and raving, calling me a murderer and saying that I was the most miserable person she'd ever met. I was hurt and angry—it was almost Thatch's birthday—and I snapped. I can never make up for that, even if she had let me try."

"She lied to me for months. I'm going to jail because of her."

"Meredith may have lied to you, but you are going to jail because of _you_. You didn't take Meredith in because she had parental issues; you took her in because even in the beginning you were falling for her. You saw her as someone you can save, so you did."

"I just wish she would have trusted me with the truth."

"She did, once she knew you were trustworthy."

"So it took me being thrown in jail to prove I was trustworthy?"

Ellis shrugs and sips her coffee, "Not necessarily, but it was the most loving, impressive thing anyone has ever done for her. And trust me Derek, Meredith hasn't allowed herself to feel loved in a long, long time."

It feels like everything stops around me. My heart, the room, the earth. All of a sudden, I feel like I really have lost _everything_.

"Dr. Grey, I need—"

"Come on, Derek."

We leave the Starbucks, tossing our nearly untouched coffee on the way, and Ellis leads me back into her building. When we board the elevator, Ellis says, "I'll give you five minutes, Derek. She's still my daughter, and I won't have you having sex under my roof."

The attendant looks at us, but I'm too focused to care.

When the doors open, Ellis unlocks the front door and points me towards Meredith's bedroom. "Five minutes," she reminds me.

I rush down the hall, not even taking in my surroundings, and pause at the last door. I can hear her sniffling. She's been crying the entire time. I don't knock; I open the door, causing Meredith to sit up alert. "I'm sorry." She wipes at her face. "You had your reasons for lying and if I were you I probably wouldn't have even told you the right name either."

"You're the only person I did tell the right name to."

I smile and step further into her room, shutting the door behind me. "I get jealous of your friendship with Mark," I admit. "And I want to be a neurosurgeon. I don't like ice cream, but I love the gelato from that place across the street from my apartment. I want to adopt a dog. I hate soda. I'm afraid that my parents' have put too much pressure on me and that I'll fail them miserably. I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And I love you. And if there was anyone in the world I'd go to jail for, it'd be you."

Meredith breaks into a smile, which I take as an invitation. I cross her room and pull her into my arms. I kiss her without thought, without pause, and without restraint. I kiss her with no regard for anything, not even breathing, because I might not be able to do so for months. I kiss her until she understands how much I love her and until I understand how much she loves me.

"I'm sorry, Meredith," I say again.

"I'm sorry, too. I'm a mess, but you make me better."

"You're not a mess; you're a teenager. It comes with the territory." I kiss her again.

"Let me testify for you," Meredith pleads.

I tuck her hair behind her ears and kiss from cheek to cheek and then forehead to chin. Ellis opens the door, so I pull away, but very slowly—to savor the moment. "Derek should go before the police find out he's here."

"Mom, we have to do something."

Ellis looks at her daughter. She smiles, and I wonder if those are Meredith's first words to her mother since she returned. "We'll talk. Derek," she steps back to let me pass.

I turn back to Meredith one last time and kiss her, right in front of her mom. "I'll write to you."

She nods. "I love you."

"I know." I kiss her again and follow Ellis out of the apartment.


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm absolutely overwhelmed. Here's why:**

**1) The outpouring of kind words after Hurricane Sandy. I hope this is untrue, but I'm sure many of you have experienced disasters where you live. Besides the attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, I have never experienced such an event. We're doing well here and things are looking up, but on a personal note, I want to thank you all _so_ much for you kind, kind words!  
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**2) The love for the last chapter. So many lovely, long reviews. As always, your reviews push me to want to update more often, so thank you.  
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**3) This story is over. Almost. So I lied to you a few weeks back when I said there were two more updates. Two has become one (yeah Spice Girls reference!). After rethinking some, I have figured this story only needs one more chapter (mostly because I _love_ how I ended this chapter). Anywho, now you have a choice to make. Do you want:  
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**A) an epilogue set sometime in the future**

**B) something that directly follows this update, i.e. Meredith still 17 and Derek still 21**

**You choose!  
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**Sorry for the longest AN ever; I'm just super excited!  
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**Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate. xo  
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**(Ignore my terrible knowledge of law. I really need to watch more _Law & Order_.)  
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* * *

><p>My mom fusses with my tie for the fifteenth time since she met me at my apartment an hour ago. I thought it was going to be a one-time thing; she noticed I tied it wrong and fixed it. But it seems like a tick for her. As if my tie alone will inspire the judge to drop the charges against me. She adjusted my tie twice more before we left my apartment for the court house, and now, as my dad paces before the double doors to the courtroom, Mom reaches for my tie for the sixteenth time.<p>

I pull back, stopping her hands in the air. "Mom, stop."

She's bewildered. I can see in her eyes the fear; she truly believes I'm about to be sentenced to jail time.

Maybe I'm too relaxed, but I no longer fear a jail sentence. At the end of the day, every moment with Meredith was worth it.

I can't help buy search for her among the growing crowd. The courthouse has a least ten courtrooms, but each one holds dozens of people outside waiting for outcomes—good, bad, life-altering. But unlike those chewing their nails to the root and pacing alongside my father, I feverishly look around for her familiar blond halo of hair. I even look for Ellis, the older version of Meredith herself, but it's hopeless. Ellis said she'd talk to Meredith about testifying, but at the end of the day, Meredith is still seventeen and her mom still calls the shots.

I'm also not worried because I'm prepared.

Gary—Mr. Marshall as Dad insists on me calling him—has been working diligently. He claims there is a very small chance I'll actually be sentenced to prison time. I'm guilty, that's for sure—I even admitted it in my affidavit—but the circumstances leave much to be discussed and the judge will probably see me as a Good Samaritan who happened to get too involved, rather than a felon. Or at least, that's the hope.

Jail may be the last place on earth I'd ever want to me. I guess no one really wants to end up behind bars, but the thought of my medical career and any subsequent achievements I may tuck under my belt being taken away from me before I even begin, is just wildly depressing. I could never practice medicine without a stigma following me around like a rain cloud. For the rest of my life, whether I win a Harper Avery, or study under Ellis Grey herself, I will always be that guy—the one who kept a runaway in his home when everyone else would have turned her away.

I sit down across from the courtroom for my hearing and study those around me. It's easy to spot the defendants—most of us look a shade lighter than we should. A girl just ten feet from me looks practically white and her eyes are glazed, probably in fear. I wonder what she did. She looks nice—dressed in a black skirt and a yellow top, bumble bee-esque—but she is so nervous. You can practically see it in the root of her hair. I think about telling her to just breathe, but the courtroom door opens behind her and she's led in by a daft-looking man in a green suit. I hope that's not her lawyer.

Speaking of lawyers, Gary Marshall trudges down the hallway looking sharp in a dark grey suit. We actually match, right down to our red ties. He greets my father with a handshake and my mother with a kiss on the cheek. I stand, offering him my hand.

"Derek, looking good. Clean. Young. All good things."

I've come to learn in the last week, that the most important thing in any proceeding is how to hold yourself. Gary Marshall is a man of distinction. His face is clean-shaven and his fingernails are clean. He walks with his shoulders rolled back and his head held high, and he'll tell you that's precisely _why_ he wins virtually every time.

"I've spoken to a few of my colleagues, ones who went before Judge Campbell earlier this morning, and they say she's in a mood. We'll need to play this right."

Dad nods seriously, "How should this go?"

Gary fiddles with a ring on his right hand; I wonder if he's nervous.

"Derek, as we discussed, you say nothing. If they ask for your plea, give it, and if you're addressed directly, be clinical about it. You should be good about that. No emotions. No weakness. I'll do all the talking. Solemn, okay?"

I nod. "Got it."

"What if the prosecutor starts grilling Derek?" Mom worries.

"Derek's not to be questioned by the prosecutor. He's handed in his affidavit to the court, so the only reason for this hearing is for sentencing."

"But don't they need to hear from him? What if they don't believe him?" Mom continues.

I touch her shoulder. "Mom, it's okay."

"Derek's affidavit is his statement. The prosecutor's sole goal is to dig deep and uncover the truth; we already did that by submitting his testimony to the court. He's already admitted to harboring Miss Grey, so there's nothing more to question."

Mom doesn't seem convinced.

Gary turns to me. "How are you feeling?"

I smile, "Good. I'll be fine," I say more for Mom and Dad than me.

"That's the spirit," Gary claps me on my back. "Alright, it's just about time. Use the bathroom if you need, this might be a long day."

I excuse myself and walk down the hallway, thankful Gary and Dad stay behind with Mom. I'm confident and collected, but my stomach is turning to knots by the minute. I'm starting to sweat beneath my jacket and I can feel my resolve slipping.

The court bathroom is surprisingly disgusting, but even so, I lock myself into one of the two stalls. I drop onto the seat and rest my eyes against my palms. I rub the stress from my temples and take deep breaths. They won't give me prison time. I'm only twenty-one and I've never done _anything_ wrong before. I'm a med student with straight As and I'm going to save people's lives one day. Maybe even the judge's life. No, they won't convict someone like me.

I exit the stall to wash my hands and clean my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. Six months ago, everything was different. I went to school, I went out with Mark, I went out with women—went, went, went. But now I'm here; I'm staying. Everything has changed since that night on Perry Street, when I heard Meredith scream. Nothing was about me that night; nothing was about how I'd benefit from saving her. All that mattered was keeping her away from him. Even if I'm convicted today, I was able to do this for her; I was able to save her from more hurt.

And it's all worth it. Meredith is worth it.

When I return to my parents and Gary, the hearing before mine is letting out. I watch people shuffling out, some happy, some crying.

"What happened?" I ask Gary.

"Misdemeanor manslaughter. He got eight years."

My stomach turns.

Gary nods, "It'll be fine. That guy deserved it. He was guilty."

_So am I_.

We wait for fifteen minutes, then twenty, then thirty, forty, and finally the bailiff opens the doors. "The City of New York versus Derek Shepherd," he calls.

Showtime.

The court fills up quickly. Locals bear witness to the proceedings, sitting and staring at me before the judge enters. They're judging me. By now, they know my case—young man harbors runaway teen girl for months. They think they know what happened; I'm sure many of them wonder how long it took for us to have sex. But they don't know how much it all meant.

I just wish I could see Meredith for one second before the judge enters.

My wish will not be granted.

A side door opens and a severe-looking blond woman in black robes steps out and ascends into her podium. Judge Campbell is not someone to fuck with. She is tall and proud and the look on her face alone tells me it's been a long time since she's taken a decent vacation. It's not even noon yet, and she's already tired of the bullshit drama of each case. Her dark eyes narrow as she appraises the room. We all stand in her honor as the bailiff requires, but as soon as she sits, so does the rest of the court.

"Today is Wednesday, September 7th in the year 2011 and this hearing of case number 187583 on the calendar is called to order. The City of New York versus Derek Shepherd in the case of harboring an underage runaway in his home. Honorable Judge Candace Campbell presiding."

The bailiff steps away. There's no one between Judge Campbell and I now.

"Right," she begins, opens a folder, and looks down her nose at me. "Derek Shepherd, you are accused of harboring a minor in your home. Do you understand the charges?"

"Yes Your Honor," I say, as practiced with Gary.

"Do you understanding harboring a runaway, particularly a minor, is a federal offense and can warrant up to a year in prison?"

"Yes Your Honor."

Judge Campbell removes her black-rimmed glasses and set them onto the podium. "Did you understand the implications of such an act when you took the minor into your home Mr. Shepherd?"

I'm about to answer yes, when Gary interrupts, "Your Honor, I'd like to say on behalf of my client, that—"

"Mr. Marshall, I'd appreciate it if you'd let your client answer for himself. He's perfectly capable." She turns back to me, "Mr. Shepherd?"

"Yes Your Honor, I knew the implications."

"Yet you took her in anyway."

"Yes Your Honor."

Judge Campbell returns her glasses to her nose. "Mr. Allen, could you please clarify when you decided to take action against the defendant?"

"Your Honor, we became aware of Mr. Shepherd's deal with the young lady on the 31st of August of this year. A deputy was dispatched to the Grey household on the 2nd of September to make Mrs. Grey aware of her daughter's whereabouts, and we arrested Mr. Shepherd on the 5th of that month."

"Why did Mrs. Grey not press charges?"

The prosecutor, who I recognize as District Attorney Kevin Allen, shifts his weight. "Mrs. Grey saw it unnecessary to become wrapped up in a messy legal suit."

"I see." Judge Campbell returns to me. "Mr. Shepherd, in your affidavit, you plead guilty to the charge of harboring a runaway. Is that correct?"

"Yes Your Honor."

"Why did you keep Miss Grey in your home for," she looks down, "a total of nearly two months? Why not call the police to pick Miss Grey up?"

I remember Meredith's lies and how at the time, the only solution was for her to stay with me. If she hadn't, she would have been returned to Ellis's care, and for all I knew at the time, she'd be returning to a toxic and abusive situation. But I can't tell the courts that, because for all they know, Meredith is young and made a bad decision, and is not a liar.

I clear my throat, "Your Honor, I believed, at the time, that Miss Grey would be better suited away from her mother."

"That is not your call, Mr. Shepherd," she admonishes.

"I know, Your Honor."

"Would you do it all over again, Mr. Shepherd, if the moment presented itself?"

I think for just a moment and nod, "Yes Your Honor."

Gary makes a sound and I realize I've just signed my own prison sentence. I'm not apologetic. In fact, I seem happy about the whole thing, at least that's what Judge Campbell is probably thinking. I'd do it all over again, meaning I believe in what I did.

I'm a goner.

"You know, I see many runaway cases in my courtroom. Children who are severely abused, so they run. Young women who find themselves pregnant and unwanted at home. Couples—modern day Romeo and Juliets. But it's rare for me to come across a case of a young woman, who seemingly has it all—money, a stable household, friends—and throws it all away to run. It makes me pause and consider what really might have been going on at home. But then it makes me consider the young woman and her mental stability."

I feel something inside me snap. She can't _seriously_ be considering Meredith to be mentally incapable.

"Even so, Mr. Shepherd, I find it curious that you chose to take this woman in. After all, you are wealthy and already very successful in your college career. It's strange that the two of you chose this fate for yourselves. So it bodes the question where your feelings lie. And, I can tell by the look on your face, how you feel about Miss Grey."

I try to remain impassive.

Judge Campbell holds up a piece of paper. "And because of this letter, I know how Miss Grey feels."

My stomach hits my shoes. I lean forward, almost as if I'll be able to grab the letter.

"Three days ago, I received this letter in the mail. On the back, she wrote, 'Please read before Derek Shepherd's court hearing. Please.' Obviously, I was curious, so I did. Miss Grey has given me permission to read this letter aloud, so here it goes:

"_Dear Honorable Judge Campbell,_

_Thank you for taking your time out to read this letter. I'm sure you're a very busy woman and I don't want to waste your time, so I greatly appreciate your attention to this matter._

_As I'm sure you're aware, Derek Shepherd will be in your courtroom Wednesday morning for harboring a runaway. I'm the runaway. I'm back with my mom now, but Derek remains charged with helping me. I say 'helping me' because that's exactly what he did. I needed someone and Derek stepped up to the plate. He wasn't the only one either. Other people helped me along the way; are you going to convict them as well? I could give you names. I mean no disrespect Judge Campbell, but I think it's sort of presumptuous to pick Derek out in the crowd, when there were a whole slew of people who helped me._

_I needed help the day Derek found me. But afterwards, coming to stay with him, that was all me. I was scared. New York is a big city, and I wasn't prepared. Derek was kind, even after he found out I lied to him._

_You see, I wrote a letter much like this last week. But to Derek. There were things I needed him to know. I won't go into the sorted details, but I can assure you, I lied to Derek—creating a monster out of my life—and his only response was to keep my safe from that life. With the knowledge I gave him, he couldn't go to the police, because I would be returned home. So he kept me safe._

_What I'm trying to say Your Honor, is please don't convict Derek. He's a wonderful person and I can't think of not being able to spend time with him for a year. _

_Please._

_All my best,_

_Meredith Grey"_

A pin could drop in the courtroom and the sound would reverberate against the plaster walls. I stare at Judge Campbell as she refolds the letter and hands it to the bailiff. He walks towards me and hands me the paper. I instantly recognize Meredith's scratchy handwriting and re-read every word she just said. Everyone just sits in silence. As I near the bottom, I read a line the Judge left out:

_P.S. I love you, Derek._

I stare at Judge Campbell, keeping the letter tight in my hands.

"As you can see the ultimate plaintiff in all of this, the young woman who ran away, is asking for a pardon. Ironically, much like her daughter, Dr. Ellis Grey wrote to me as well. Her letter was much shorter, but gets the point across:

"_Judge Campbell,_

_I find it curious that my daughter and I, the true plaintiffs in the City of New York versus Derek Shepherd, are not pressing charges, yet the city continues to ruin the soon-to-be remarkable future of such a promising young man as Mr. Shepherd._

_Sincerely,_

_Ellis Grey_"

The bailiff also delivers me this letter. Ellis has written nothing more, but her words resonate through the courtroom.

"Mr. Allen, do you have a response to Dr. Grey's letter?"

"The defendant has already pled guilty. He _is_ guilty, as he said before this entire room, so whether or not the Greys have pressed charges are of no consequence. Derek Shepherd is guilty."

"Mr. Allen, do you really need to point your finger toward guilt _three_ times in one statement? Sheesh," she exclaims. "I wasn't asking you if Mr. Shepherd was guilty or not, I was asking for a response to what Dr. Grey said. Do you need me to read it again?"

Mr. Allen shakes his head, "No Your Honor." He pauses. "The truth of the matter is we're pressing charges because Mr. Shepherd broke the law and that is what we do. We promote following the law."

"So Mr. Shepherd's case is in my courtroom today because you need to prove a point?"

"No Your Honor. His case is in your courtroom today because it's the right thing to do."

Judge Campbell nods, shuffles some pages, and sighs. "Even before I took on this hearing, I knew how I'd rule. As soon as I read Mr. Shepherd's affidavit, I realized he was a good kid from a good family. But good kids often do stupid things and I find the courts fail when really providing a suitable punishment for the law-breakers. But then, of course right when I think I have everything figured out, I hear from the Greys. I don't often take plea letters into consideration, but receiving two was quite a change, especially a mother and daughter pair. These letters further solidified my already founded decision.

Before I make my ruling, is there anything you'd like to say Mr. Allen?"

"I just ask that you consider the plea Mr. Shepherd made and rule according to the defendant's affidavit."

"And you Mr. Marshall? Mr. Shepherd?"

"Thank you, Your Honor, and I'm sure you will surely rule as fairly as possible," Gary says.

All eyes turn to me. I take a breath and try to muster up something profound. Instead, I say, "I think what I did was best for Meredith at the time."

Gary sighs, again, and if I hadn't lost it ten minutes ago, I have now.

"Thank you," Judge Campbell says. "Mr. Shepherd, after careful consideration of your affidavit, the city's charges, and the letters by both Miss and Mrs. Grey, I hereby rule in the defenses favor. Mr. Shepherd, you will be scrubbed of all charges and this hearing is adjourned. Just don't do it again, alright Derek?"

It feels like water is rushing past my ears, but I manage to make out Gary thanking the judge and turning to shake hands with Mr. Allen. Hands grab my shoulders—my mother's—as she rushes to my side and throws her arms around me. My father claps me on my back, but none of it feels quite real. I watch as Judge Campbell stands and walks back to the side door. At the last moment, she turns to me, breaks into a smile and nods toward me. I finally feel relieve.

I hug my mom back and laugh out loud. I realize I've been holding my breath for days and just now I can finally breathe.

Ellis Grey walks into my field of vision, causing me to pull away from my mother. My parents turn and both greet Meredith's mom. She nods a hello and turns back to me. "I'm glad you were acquitted."

"Why did you write that letter?"

"Solace," she says quietly and nods toward the door. "I want her to stay with me even after she turns eighteen. She can move in with you when she heads off to college, if you're so inclined. You'll be allowed complete access as long as her schoolwork doesn't suffer. Or yours. We need good doctors, so you're not to fail. She won't be staying over with you, but I'll allow late nights as long as you accompany her home. Eleven during the week and one during the weekend. She's still my daughter, Derek."

I smile. "Yes, of course."

"Well…" Ellis motions to the door.

I turn and standing there in a white dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders, is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I smile wide, my vision narrowing on her only.

Meredith smiles back at me and walks down the aisle towards me.

We're free.


	23. Epilogue

I stare in the mirror wondering if I look like someone who could save your life.

What does a doctor look like really? I'd imagine him to be older with lines of wisdom running along his face. He should have kind eyes and firm, strong hands. He should walk with his shoulders back and hold dignified conversations about the merits of laparoscopic surgery.

I don't look like a doctor. I'm too small. My hands are narrow and weak. I slouch when I walk. I'm too young. I'm too inexperienced. And I'm a woman. After all this time, and all the advances women have made in the field—my mother included—I'll still never be as respected as I should be.

It's time to leave. I have a forty-eight hour shift, then fifteen hours off, and then I'm back on for thirty-six hours.

I should have been a teacher. They have summers off.

I look tired and scared.

I'm going to fail.

The apartment smells good, like bacon and butter. I grab my bag and shoes and set them by the front door. The hospital might be only a few blocks away, but I can't afford even a minute if I forget anything. The kitchen is a mess of egg shells, dirty pans, and chopped tomatoes. Next to the stove is a plate waiting for me—a tomato and basil omelet with a side a bacon. There's a piping hot cup of coffee calling my name. I didn't sleep much last night, so I grab the coffee first.

The sliding door to the balcony is propped open. I take a grateful sip and step out into the warm morning.

"Dr. Grey," Derek greets me with a smile.

I can't help but smile back, still feeling butterflies in my stomach all these years later. I lean down and kiss him. "Hi."

"Are you ready?"

I sit in the chair next to him and look out across the Upper East Side. The park looks like an oasis in the distance and all I want is to go back to the day of our date there—where Derek tried to convince me New York was the place to be. Who knew nine years later, I'd still be calling this city my home.

"As I'll ever be."

Derek touches my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his hand. "You'll do great." I turn and kiss his palm.

"I'm Ellis Grey's daughter, I better do great."

"Never mind her. One day, when you've put in the time, no one will even know her name. They'll know Grey, but they'll think of you and all the amazing things you've done."

I glance down at my left hand, twirling the ring around my finger. "Are you sure you don't mind if I don't change my name? I mean, it's not like I don't like your last name. I do. But I just love being Meredith Grey. And as much as I hate all that comes with that, it really has helped me so far. People take me seriously already, and you know how difficult respect is to earn. I just think it'd be good to stay Meredith Grey, you know. But if it bothers you—"

My breath catches as Derek kisses me. I lean into him, accepting his kiss fully. It doesn't matter how much time has passed, whenever Derek kisses me, or touches me, or looks at me, I still feel like the seventeen year old I once was—the one who fell in love too quickly, but made the best decision she ever could: the decision to stay.

Derek pulls away for a second, sets his coffee down before reaching for mine. He takes my hand and pulls me to him. I slide down into his lap and resume the kiss. His hands slide underneath my tee shirt and over my ribs. I cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

When he pulls away, I feel a lingering sadness of change. In just an hour, our lives will change irrevocably. I'll no longer be home all day studying and taking exams; I'll be working and while we'll be at the same hospital, everything is about to change. I just want to crawl back into bed with Derek and forget about today.

"You don't need to change your name." He touches the ring. "I want to marry you whether you're Meredith Grey, Meredith Shepherd, or Meredith Grey-Shepherd. Plus, I stopped listening to your rambling after you said 'I do,'" he grins at me.

"Knock knock," someone calls from inside the apartment.

Derek and I both stand, Derek walking back inside first. "Cristina," he sighs. He loves Cristina, but only because I do. I think if they had a choice, they'd never spend time together.

"Oh god, look at that thing," Cristina groans and points to my hand. "It's like you strapped a freaking mine to her hand. Are there any diamonds left in the world?"

"Hello to you too, Cristina. I take it Meredith gave you a key." He eyes me as if I'm in trouble, but we both know better.

"Took her long enough. I would say let me see that thing," she motions to my hand again, "but I'm pretty sure they can see it from Pluto."

I hold my hand up to stare at the ring again. "It's not _that _big."

"Yes it is," Derek and Cristina say at the same time, and then glare at one another.

"I need to get out of here," Cristina turns to the door. "Come on. We have forty-eight blood-filled hours waiting for us."

I turn to Derek, who watches on quietly. I ignore Cristina's presence for a minute and lean into him. "So I'll see you later?"

"Of course. I have a surgery at eleven, but I should be out by three-ish, if you want to do a late lunch."

"Yes please." I kiss him. "You'll be nice to the interns, right?"

"Yes, I promise," he grins.

"Why won't you tell me who you have?"

He kisses me, "Because none of them are you, so it doesn't matter."

Cristina makes a gagging noise. "I'll see you downstairs. Hurry up."

Derek laughs and kisses me again. His tongue slides into my mouth with a sigh. I run my hands down his shirt, feeling each button, and so desperately wanting to undo them and feel his skin against mine. But I can't, so I pull away.

"Is the ring really that big?"

He laughs, "Yes. Does it bother you?"

I stare at the sparkling diamond and wonder what my engagement ring should look like. How big is too big? If I were a homemaker or maybe a realtor, would a bigger ring do, or because I'm a doctor does it feel ridiculous?

_I'm a doctor._

I smile, despite myself. "Maybe I just won't wear it all day. I love it, but I don't want it to get mucked up at work."

Derek pushes my hair behind my ears. "That sounds like a good compromise."

My phone begins to ring in my purse. I'm sure it's Cristina.

"I have to go."

Derek kisses me once more, "Alright. I'll see you later. Have a good day!"

I grab my shoes and bag, toss Derek a wave and a smile, and head downstairs.

_I'm about to become a doctor._

**Hour Eight**

The morning is a madhouse. I'm not sure I breathe the entire time, let alone eat or go to the bathroom. The Nazi has already earned her name, giving that she's made us run up and down the stairs about fifty times, yet we've barely been allowed in a patient's room. I stood in the gallery for a minute, but I couldn't see much. I'm lucky to have Cristina _and_ Izzie in my group, along with a guy named George. He's nice, and probably gay, so things are looking up.

Bailey keeps giving me a look though, a look that screams: I know who are and who your mother is, but I won't be giving you any breaks. In fact, she made a point of calling me out while we were going over her rules. "I don't care who your mother, father, or sister is. You'll all be on scut at some point; you'll all be in the gallery watching; and you'll all be held accountable for your mistakes. This is my license and I won't have some first year ruining my good name."

I'm pretty sure my cheeks are still red.

I worked through most of lunch, since my one case—Katie Bryce, a rhythmic gymnast—keeps paging me. I honestly think I might have to kill her, just to get a moment of peace.

By three, I'm excited to see Derek. I hear his group is full of nosy gossips, all of whom have already found out Derek is my fiancé. They also know about my mother being the chief, so all around, my name is on everyone's tongue.

But Derek is late. I check my phone and pager, but they're both quiet. I'm thinking of returning to work, maybe checking on Katie, when Mark sits down beside me.

"It's three Grey, and you already look beat. Better have some coffee."

"Have you seen Derek?"

Mark takes a big bite of his cheeseburger. "Yup," he says through a full mouth. "He's stuck in surgery."

"Oh."

"Welcome to the world of being a doctor," he grins. "I hear O'Malley got the first surgery. I bet the Chief won't be happy about that."

I pick at my salad, seriously wishing I could have Mark's burger right now. "She'll get over it."

"Have you seen her? She's in a mood today."

"I'm trying to avoid her. There's enough gossip going around about me already."

"Ah yes, the engagement. Where's the ring?"

I feel my empty finger. "I can't operate with that thing on my hand."

Mark laughs, "I told Derek it was too big."

"It's not that. I love it. I just can't wear it during work. It'll catch on gloves and tubes and things."

"As if you're allowed to even put on gloves. You're a surgical baby; no one in their right mind would allow you near anything having to do with medicine." Mark's pager rings from his waistband. "Gotta go, Grey. Finish my food for me, okay? You're too thin."

I eye Mark's burger for exactly two seconds after he dashes off before deciding to eat the entire thing. It's the best choice I've made all day.

**Hour Twelve**

Katie Bryce pages me. Again.

I leisurely walk to her room, expecting her to bitch about the TV again or maybe complain about the crappy hospital food. Instead, I walk into her room and find my patient having a grand mal seizure.

My vision tunnels and all I can see is the teenager shaking and foaming from the mouth. I hear voices around me—shouting at me to do…something…but my hands are frozen. My mind is playing a loop of medical texts over and over again, but I can't seem to focus on anything. How am I supposed to handle this? Shouldn't some better equipped be in this room?

But all eyes are on me and I can't fail. I _am_ Ellis Grey's daughter after all.

"Dr. Grey, what do you want to do!?" someone shouts.

"Phenobarbital. Load her up with Phenobarbital!"

We turn Katie onto her side and administer the drugs. She shakes for another few seconds, and then her heart stops. So does mine. The orderlies and nurses work quickly and someone puts the paddles in my hands. I shock a heart for the first time. And then again. I can feel the blood rushing through my ears. She's going to die. It's my first day, and my patient is about to die.

The paddles are charged again and I shock her heart. Her rhythm catches, and suddenly she's not dead.

I feel overwhelming relief.

"Good job Dr. Grey." I look up and see my mother standing in the doorway. "Although, it would do to get to your patient _faster _next time. This isn't a grocery store; this is a hospital, no dawdling."

My face flushes.

"Will you come with me, Meredith?" she asks, but I know it's not a request.

I hand the paddles away and follow my mom out of the room. She walks quickly down the hallway and holds the door open to her office. I'm so used to the minimalist space—not even a picture of me graces the desk—but being here now feels wholly different. I feel like I'm in the principal's office, if the principal happened to be my mother.

She walks around her big glass and chrome desk and shuffles some papers. The glass walls are intimidating and I feel like everyone is judging me. Cristina walks by and eyes me curiously. I'm a caged animal.

"George O'Malley has the first surgery."

I say nothing.

"Dr. Burke always picks the weakest link. It's good you didn't win that."

"Why does he pick the weakest?"

"It's a tactic. A good way to weed out those who won't make it in this program."

I tug on my sleeve of my shirt beneath my scrubs. I'd really like to go to sleep now.

"Derek came to see me last week. He asked me an important question."

My stomach tumbles.

"_And_ I ran into Mark Sloan today and he was gossiping with his fellow residents. Apparently my daughter is engaged and I didn't know it yet."

"It just happened after—"

"—the boards. Yes, I know from Mark Sloan."

"I was going to tell you today."

"Never mind that. I'm just glad I know. I guess a congratulations is in order." She smiles. "Are you happy?"

I find myself smiling in return. "Yes, very."

"That's all that matters. I will be getting an invitation, right?"

I laugh, "Of course, Mom. Derek wants you there, at least."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, I'll go for Derek then. Can I see the ring?"

I think about the rock in my locker. My mom will have _many_ opinions on its size, so I decide to put it off for as long as possible. "I left it at home. Can't cut with a ring on your finger, right?" I ask, remembering my mom always taking off hers back when my dad was still alive.

"Well I'll see it Thursday night when you and Derek come for dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Your fiancé already agreed for the both of you. I'd like to see you outside the hospital."

"Dinner, then."

The phone rings. "I'll see you later, Meredith."

I'm dismissed. I make it as far as the door before she stops me, "You did a great job today. Just make sure you make it there faster next time."

"Thanks Mom."

She smiles and picks up her phone.

I shut the door behind me.

_Maybe I _can_ be a doctor._

**Hour Sixteen**

Katie Bryce's parents have questions I can't answer. I don't know what's wrong with their daughter, or why she keeps seizing, so instead of bullshitting them, I excuse myself. Doctor Bailey is harried when I find her, but she gives me just enough time to point out the resident assigned to the case, Doctor Shepherd. By the way she says Derek's name, I know she knows about us. But then again, I'm sure everyone does after Mark opened his big mouth.

Derek sees me from across the room and smiles. He hands a chart off to someone in light blue scrubs like me and nods toward a door. I follow him.

We step into a stairwell and Derek checks up and down to make sure we're alone. He turns back to me and kisses me soundly. "How are you?" he asks against my lips, but doesn't give me enough time to answer before kissing me again. I wrap myself around him, my hands finding the base of his spine and his side, his weaving through my hair and cupping my ass. This is not the kind of kiss for a sterile hospital.

My back presses to the railing, with Derek leaning down onto me, causing me to arch up against him. I reach up under the back of his scrub top and lavish in the feeling of his warm skin on my fingertips. I shiver as her traces my lips with his tongue, before breaking away and kissing down the column of my throat. I roll my head to the side and for a moment, I forget where I am.

When I remember, I push him away.

"Stop, stop. I'm supposed to be working."

"So am I," Derek grins and leans in again.

I step around him and to the other side of the landing. "No kissing at work."

He rights himself. "Never?"

"No, never. We should remain professional."

"Everyone already knows we're engaged." He steps in front of me.

I rest my palm on his chest, keeping him a literal arm's length away from me. "That doesn't matter. In this hospital, we're co-workers. Actually, you're my boss, so it's inappropriate."

"So no sex in the on call room?" he smirks.

"No."

"Really?" he runs his hand up my arm before cupping my neck. My elbow bends and he steps closer. "I've been waiting to have sex with you in the on call room for years," he whispers and slides his hand down the front of my scrub top, effectively groping me through the material. I shiver and feel myself burning from the inside out. Derek leans against my again; I can feel _all_ of him.

"Derek, it's my first day," I say quietly.

He brushes his lips to mine. "So?"

I push my hips against his. "I have to work."

Derek kisses my neck. "Come to an on call room with me."

"Derek…" I sigh as his hand creeps up the front of my top and skims over my bra.

He sucks on my collarbones one at a time. I roll my head back. "Come on."

The door opens and Derek and I pull away faster than two teenagers behind the bleachers at a school dance. I bang my elbow on the railing while fixing my top and Derek tries—and fails—to covers his erection. Izzie eyes us both from the doorway. "I see you two have been keeping yourself occupied."

My relief that it's only Izzie is immeasurable.

"Doctor Shepherd," she says with a tone, "Bailey is looking for you. It's Katie Bryce."

"How did you find us in here?"

Izzie laughs, "Mark. He said he'd seen you two sneak off. He also wanted me to tell you," she says to Derek, "that there are on call rooms for a reason. And something about a glove and love, which I will not repeat," she crinkles her nose. Izzie looks us over once again, laughs, and shuts the door behind her.

Derek runs a hand through his hair. "Shit."

"This is _exactly_ why we're strictly co-workers."

"But—"

I kiss him lightly, run my fingers through my hair, and leave him in the stairwell by himself.

**Hour Seventeen**

Derek needs someone to assist him and the attending on call in the operating room for Katie Bryce's brain surgery. He can't pick me, even though I've been with her from the beginning. So he's listening to the suggestions of the other residents and the attendings. He'd like to pick me; in fact, I deserve it, but it would look like favoritism. The one major drawback of our relationship is Derek can _never_ pick me without ridicule. So Dr. Bailey, Mark, Dr. Torres, Dr. Hunt, and Dr. Robbins sit around a table in the conference room talking about us.

Izzie, Cristina, George, and I sit outside waiting. George is the new 007, so he won't get it.

"Everyone's calling me 007," he groans for the fifth or sixth time.

"No one's calling you 007," we all reply.

"Derek will pick me. He likes me," Izzie smiles. She is right; Derek does like her—more than Cristina at least.

"Cool it Doctor Barbie, Derek is going to pick based on talent. And you have none," Cristina replies.

I watch Derek as he paces the room. "Doctor Shepherd," I remind them, "isn't picking. Bailey, Sloan, Torres, Hunt, and Robbins are."

"You're going to get picked," George adds. "You're friends with all of them."

"I don't even know Robbins or Torres."

He snorts, "Sure you don't."

Derek meets my eyes. He smiles.

"I'm not going to get picked because I didn't make out with Dr. McDreamy in the stairwell today. Maybe I should put out for Hunt. He's attractive, in that red-haired, Irish-looking way." Cristina tilts her head to the side regarding Dr. Hunt.

"You told her?" I ask Izzie.

She shrugs, "It's not like anyone cares, and you're practically married."

I look down at my feet. "I deserve this surgery."

"For playing tonsil-hockey with McDreamy?" Cristina asks.

"What's with the McDreamy stuff? He's going to hate that."

"All the more reason to stick him with the nickname."

The conference room opens and Dr. Bailey walks out first. She eyes us all. She's quickly followed by the other residents. "O'Malley, scut. Stevens, Mr. Wilder in 2113 needs a CAT scan. Yang, Doctor Hunt has requested you. And Grey," she narrows her eyes at me. "You'll be with Shepherd."

Derek beams at me.

"Scram," Bailey says and everyone, including the residents, bolt. She turns to Derek and me. "I'm watching you two. Got it?"

"Yes, Doctor Bailey," we both say.

As Dr. Bailey turns the corner, Derek takes my hand. "They chose you."

"Why?"

"I think they want to see what you can do." He squeezes my palm, "See you in there."

**Hour Nineteen**

Derek stands behind Katie Bryce's exposed skull and holds a drill in the air. I've never, ever found him more attractive in my life. He looks up at me, beneath his mask, and smiles. I can tell he's smiling by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. He nods his head and I walk into the operating room.

I stand out of the way, behind the nurses, and observe. That's what I'm here for, anyway. To watch. To take it all in. To learn.

"It's a beautiful night to save lives. Let's have some fun."

And with that, Derek makes a cut.

He's a resident, but he's at the top of his class. Back when Derek was an intern, everyone wanted him in their OR. Derek is attentive and precise. He's exactly who you'd want to be your surgeon. He's a perfectionist and compassionate. And he loves what he does. He was the first of his year to receive a solo surgery, and since then he's been cutting in every OR he walks into.

Watching Derek makes me proud and gives me something to look forward. Maybe one day I'll be as good as him.

He meets my eyes and grins. He nods again and looks to the scope next to him.

I walk around the nurses and doctors and slide up next to him. Derek is still grinning beneath his mask.

I look down into the scope and for the first time in my life, I look into a human brain. I watch Derek's bladE gliding along the skin and his hands moving to suction the blood. He's flawless and confident. The room is quiet save for the machines keeping Katie Bryce alive, but I'm sure I can hear his heart beating. Derek gets high on cutting, on saving people, and I feel the same rush through my veins.

He turns to me, the light from his head lamp nearly blinding me, but I can feel his happiness. He's waited just as long as I have for the moment that I'd work beside him.

The next hour rushes by, but the entire time, all I can think is: _this is it. This is what I worked for all my life._

**Hour Twenty-four**

I sit outside the operating room after Katie's surgery. She'll be just fine, or so I can tell. Derek seemed pleased as he sewed her up, and excused me during the tedious process. I would have loved to have just stood and watched him longer, but he said I was dead on my feet. I haven't slept in a day, but neither has he.

The door opens behind me and Cristina walks out. She glares at me and then softens.

"I think I should sleep with Hunt."

"For the perks?" I ask.

She shrugs and plops down beside me. "He's a good guy, I guess."

"Why do you need to sleep with anybody?"

Cristina rolls her eyes, "It's been a long time, Meredith."

I smile; I don't know what that's like.

"You get that I hate you, right?"

"Yeah. I do."

She stands up. "You're happiness is sickening. I miss runaway Meredith."

"She's still here, trust me."

"Oh no, you are _far_ from the dark and twisty days of fucked up, teenaged Meredith Grey. I have to go before I catch your happiness."

I laugh, "Bye Cristina."

I might sit there for another minute or three hours, I honestly couldn't tell. The rush of the surgery keeps me awake and all I can think about are the hours spent simply studying medicine and how through my studies, I never expected it to be so…so…incredible. Nothing could ever adequately explain how perfect being in an OR feels. How extraordinary you feel when you watch someone save a life and knowing that one day, that someone will be you.

I'd always watched my mom rushing off to work and I never really got it. I never understood, neither did my dad, I'm sure, how amazing it was to be standing there, beneath all the lights, with a scalpel in your hand. I didn't understand the high or the rush. So I punished my mother for neglect. And maybe she did neglect me, but now, I fully understand _why_ she did. She couldn't help it. Because who wouldn't want to feel like a god if given the chance?

The door opens behind me again and Derek walks past me. He stops at the empty nurse's station and focuses on his paperwork, pausing for a second to remove his scrub cap. He glances in my direction and slowly grins.

"Hi."

"Hi," my voice cracks.

Derek leans against the counter and sighs, just watching me.

"That was amazing."

"Yeah," he says.

When I look at him, I see so much beyond his handsome face or his wonderful personality. I see the past. I see myself alone in a city that planned to kill me. I see myself growing to like the stranger who rescued me, and eventually fall in love with that stranger. I see myself making love to him for the first time. I see him turning to me in the courtroom and realizing we were free to do whatever we wanted without having to hide.

I also see my present. The here and now. Our apartment just a few blocks away—a mix of his things and mine. The Saturday nights we lie on the couch eating ice cream and the walks through the park when it's warm. I see the visits with my mom and the weekends to Connecticut to visit his family.

And then there's the future. The ring on my finger promises so much for us and while I can't really speculate how we'll live our lives as husband and wife, I can imagine how much fun it will be to take the journey with Derek.

I stand and walk to Derek's side. I look up at him and wrap my arm around his waist. "I love you."

"I thought we were strictly co-workers while in the hospital," he teases.

I press my mouth to his. "I love you," I repeat.

"I love you, too. Now can we have sex in an on-call room?"

I burst out laughing and turn from him.

"Please!" he calls after me.

I turn and watch as Derek approaches me. "In your dreams Shepherd."

When Derek catches up with me, he slides his hand into mine and follows me down the hallway. I pause at an on-call room, check inside, and slide into the dark room.

I don't know what the future holds, but the present looks pretty good to me, and that's all you can ask for. Right?

* * *

><p><strong>There's so much to say, but only so much babbling allowed, so I'll try to keep this short-but I know I won't succeed!<strong>

**First, thank you for reading. Obviously, all my work would mean nothing if not for the readers. If you ever commented, I thank you as well. I've never been one to demand reviews from my readers, but I really, really appreciate them! You have all been so kind :)**

**Second, a little about this update. Since the beginning, it seems everyone wanted to read from Meredith's POV, but it never would have worked. The whole point of this story was keeping Derek in the dark and showing even a second of Meredeth's POV might have complicated that. But I decided because you've all been so kind, now was the time. Also, everyone (almost) wanted the future, so your wish is my command! I really had a fun time writing this epilogue.  
><strong>

**Third, I will be writing again. I have a very good idea now, but it might take some time. Obviously, you'll be the first to know!  
><strong>

**Fourth, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!  
><strong>

**And with that, I say goodnight.  
><strong>

***tear*  
><strong>


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